Inspired by an open call for ‘mortifying disclosures’ on opensalon.com, I am taking a break from writing about cancer. Time to think back.
It was the last day of the Pro-Am Golf Tournament in Las Vegas. We even had our pix taken with a show girl. I, a matronly, middle-aged golfer sporting my 28 handicap (not good) jumped into the golf cart with Daniel Belcher our young pro (zero handicap) who with his British manner of understating the obvious was confident that he would win some serious money: he was in the top five on the leader board. Off we went. We were playing with very close friends of mine, Asa and Anthony Marks. No need for nerves; we had played together just like this many, many times, our trip to the USA to play Pro-Ams had become an annual event. We had a lot of laughs, but today with some serious money at stake – with our pro a shoo-in – we were trying to behave.
We teed off and the gentle rain turned into rain gear on and umbrellas out. I think all was going amazingly well for Daniel. Asa and Anthony teed off on the fifth hole and moved their cart up the fairway, waiting for Daniel and I to hit our drives. I was suddenly caught with an overwhelming need to go to the loo as we say in London or in plain English ‘have a pee’. It was a fancy course and I was convinced that the toilets would be locked with the same key as the key for the golf cart. So I grabbed the key and headed for the ladies’ loo.
I ran to the toilet, the door opened without the need of a key, and the last thing I remembered was having a quick whish and flushing the toilet, and hearing the clink of metal on the toilet bowl. THE KEY WAS NEVER SEEN AGAIN.
Which meant we couldn’t move the cart.
So here is the scene. I’m in the toilet. Daniel is starting to blush and his mental state went ‘down the toilet’ with the keys. This was a serious tournament and the PGA officials in their official suits arrived within a few minutes. What they witnessed was Daniel looking down my trouser leg, hopeful that he would find keys. They made their ruling. As much as we would have like to have crawled back into the club house, we had to finish the match, trousers askew or not. Needless to say, Daniel’s game fell apart. Asa and Anthony were still standing in the rain befuddled. We ended up driving off in the PGA official cart, leaving the officials to work it out for themselves.