Two friends were trapped in golf purgatory, enduring the most agonizingly slow weekend round of their lives.
The two women playing the hole directly ahead of them were an absolute disaster. They were hacking their way into every sand trap, driving balls into the deep water hazards, and completely ignoring the basic etiquette of letting faster players pass through.
After two hours of simmering rage, the first man finally snapped. “That’s it. I’ve had enough. I’m walking up there right now and demanding they let us play through.”
He marched aggressively down the fairway, but halfway to the green, he abruptly froze dead in his tracks. He spun on his heel and walked straight back to the golf cart, looking completely mortified.
“What happened?” his buddy asked. “Why didn’t you talk to them?”
“I can’t do it,” the first man whispered, wiping away a nervous sweat. “I just realized… one of those women is my wife, and the other is my mistress. If they see me walking up there together, it’ll be a total bloodbath. You’re going to have to go instead.”
“No problem, I got your back,” the second man nodded confidently.
He started striding toward the women, got about halfway down the green, took one close look at the pair, and instantly stopped. He turned right around, walked back to the cart, and flashed a sheepish, mind-blown grin at his friend.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “Small world!”
