by Selina van OrdenWhen I was younger, my parents took me and my sisters to play golf. The sun was shining, I took my first swing at the ball and it went flying through the air with a satisfying wooden-clonk. I took a second shot and again, the club hit the ball and I heard rounds of applause in my head as this was almost certainly going to be a hole-in-one. We started walking around the course, I remember getting weary of the walking, I wanted to be getting holes-in-ones, not wandering around this sprawling space by the sea (I had hardly noticed the sea beside me).
Then came my third shot, I missed the ball. My fourth, fifth and sixth were hardly better. Beginners luck the guy tutoring us exclaimed. Real skill takes some practice! Pffftt, I thought. I can’t be bothered with this. I asked my father for the car keys and went to sit in the car. Oh how I grew bored as I waited for my family to finish knocking balls around. It had started to rain now too. Come on guys, I called.
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