A Glimpse Into My Future?

I hadn't won a putt pot in ages.  Figured it had to be the putter (not the puttor). 

Monday night I burrowed into the dark, roach-infested corners of my garage, digging out putters from daze of yore.  Hefted a couple, swang 'em, tried them against the one I've been using - father-in-law's last putter with a faux diamond on the toe - and decided to stick with the current one.

Tuesday morning I'm on the green of the first hole at Dobson, and I panic, then start pawing through the clubs in my bag with both hands.  "Oh Man!" I cry out to my buds, "I think I left my putter in my gar - - -" and then I notice I have it tucked under my arm.  Many whoops and much hilarity ensue. 

Thankfully, these are thoughtful, sensitive, considerate, non-abusive fellows who will doubtless never bring the incident up again.