Holey Moley!

Pak Abu is in love, and it shows. They are inseparable, like a couple of newlyweds. I watched silently as he lovingly enveloped her in an affectionate embrace every morning. I even caught him tenderly caressing her once, lost in his object of desire.

The rational woman in me whispered to leave them well alone. For whatever it is worth, I am still head over heels with that old "Fuzzy Face", so I have decided to turn a blind eye to his shenanigans. Go ahead, flaunt her for all I care.

I know I am at the losing end but what am I to do? Not when my competitor is a recenty acquired flaming red, come-hither golf set!

Now I fully understand how the term "golf widow" came to be. The long-suffering wife of a golf addict is indeed a widow, because more often than not, her man becomes alive only when he takes that first swing of the day.

Pak Abu and his craze for golf is nothing new. It started a decade ago and has not abated. Now that he has reached the Warga Mas status with more time for leisure than ever before, he spends his days on the course with a group of like-minded friends besotted with the game as he is.

They say if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. I tried. Heaven knows how much I tried, to the point of desperation, in fact. I took lessons from a pro; I trudged to the driving range to practice my swings. But I have one thing not in my favour. It's the blinking sun.

Prolonged exposure to the sun gives me excruciating migraine that lasts for days. And golf is not a game that can be neatly wrapped up in an hour. Be that as it may, Pak Abu has given up hope of ever having me play alongside him. Not that he rue the fact, I think.

I learned a lot, being married to an avid golfer. I learned to nod sagely and make the appropriate sounds as he launched into yet another yarn from the fairway. I learned to pepper my conversations with choice golf terms, as though I am only three rungs down from Lorena Ochoa.

I learned to dip into my 'reservoir of sympathy' when Pak Abu had a bad run, and heaped on the praises when he was on a winning streak. By jove, the Romans would find me wanting when I lent my ears to Pak Abu's golf-scapades.

Most of all, I learn to appreciate the game. I admire Pak Abu and his iron-wielding gang. It takes a lot to spend four to five hours under the blazing sun every day, hitting small white balls into distant holes... and enjoying every minute of it.

If that is not dedikasi, I don't know what is.