GOLF CLUBS FOR SALE -- the perfect gift for someone you hate.
Now seen as the bane of my existence that they are, these clubs once held the promise of a better golf game back when I was hitting with the aluminum/steel/iron sticks I hauled around in the 40+ pound bag that was actually a very generous gift from my gay ex-boyfriend’s mother. (My life is nonstop awesomeness!) I paid top dollar for these clubs back when I was hopeful and optimistic, not to mention deeply delusional about my athletic prowess. I would now like to sell them for some poetic amount of money, like $1 for every stroke I took this morning on the golf course where dreams go to die. So, roughly, $118? I can’t say for sure, since I stopped keeping track after I announced on the 7th hole that I was quitting forever.
Buyer note: in case you’re not paying attention, there’s quite a bit of room to negotiate on price here because I am completely emotionally unglued. You’re welcome for the heads up.
Or maybe for $225, the amount I invested in (read: wasted on) golf lessons already this disastrous season. Or $4, which would be $1 for each drink I used to consume on sunny afternoons on the course with friends -- to hit my so-called golf:alcohol ratio sweet spot. Actually, upon reflection, I guess I really can’t go below $100 on price because I’ve never gotten my score below 100 -- Karma would just laugh and laugh in my face if I did that, like she does in every sand trap, on most shots under 100 yards, and like she did when I got b*tch-slapped with a parking ticket on my way home from my triumphant victory in traffic court on Friday morning.
But I digress. The good news on these clubs is that I dedicated myself tirelessly to getting the unforgivably and unforgettably horrible shots out of them. The bad news is that if you are thinking about jamming one in your own eye or through your eardrum to end the infuriating madness that comes with failing at a sport for 10 years straight, they are not sharp enough to do real damage. Sorry. I dulled all the edges by banging them into the ground like a 3-year-old having a full-fledged temper tantrum.
Pretentious, overpriced law school golf towel sold separately. If I don't use it as kindling.
- Location: Mpls / brink of insanity
- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests