About 30 years ago — the same year I took up marriage — I started playing golf. Today I shot a 122. For those unfamiliar with golf scoring but who know how to keep score in marriage, let me put it this way. Today I left every toilet seat up, forgot our anniversary and her birthday, dropped dirty underwear on the kitchen floor, left the cap off the toothpaste, forgot to pick up the kids, insulted my mother-in-law, drank milk from the carton. And on the par five ninth hole I slept with the nanny. I did everything wrong that can be done wrong.

My favourite golf joke:
Why do they call it “golf?”
I don’t know. Why do they call it “golf?”
Because “fuck” was already taken.

If my marital performance was still as bad as my golf game, I would have been smothered in my sleep decades ago. Unfortunately, mercy killing in golf is discouraged as ungentlemanly.

Golf and marriage follow a similar trajectory. It seems like a good idea at the time. You jump in. It’s much harder than you expected. But with practice and patience you get better. You deal with things as they come up. Impossible pin placements. Water and sand hazards. You learn from mistakes. You correct behaviours that lead to painful outcomes. Or you avoid them. You know you’re never going to hit that three-iron or make that flop shot, so you play it safe to avoid a snow man or a cold shoulder. Eventually your missteps become fewer.

A relevant side note:
A former colleague of mine (@bethteitell) recently wrote a brilliant piece for the Boston Globe about one of the issues couples start discussing later in life – what the surviving person needs to know when the other partner dies first. It can be read here.

The golfing corollary is to discuss what happens to your clubs when you die, which reminds me of another golf joke.

A husband and wife are lying awake in bed late at night, talking about the important things spouses talk about in the quiet darkness at the end of the day, like whether you put out the garbage, turned on the dishwasher or killed the spider in the laundry room, and removed its carcass.

Husband: If I die first, do you think you’ll remarry?
Wife: Oh, I don’t know. I don’t like to think about those things.
Husband: (After a contemplative pause) I think you should remarry. I’d hate to think of you living out your days alone.
Wife: OK, if you say so. Now go to sleep.
Husband: (Another contemplative pause) Do you think you’d live in this house?
Wife: What?
Husband: You and your new husband. Would you live in this house?
Wife: (a bit impatient) I don’t know. Sure. We’d live in this house.
Husband: (Contemplative pause) Would you sleep in this bed?
Wife: (chuckles and decides to play along) Yes. I like this bed. It’s comfortable. I’d keep this bed.
Husband: (pause) I guess that makes sense. OK, good night.
Wife: Good night, you moron.
Husband: (Pause) Just one other thing. Live in the house, sleep in this bed, but don’t let the new guy use my golf clubs. I really don’t want him to use my golf clubs.
Wife: (No pause.) Oh, don’t worry about that. He’s left-handed.

I like to think I have gotten better at marriage; become a better husband. But someone else has to make that call.
I know I have not become a better golfer. There is data. Scores don’t lie. Golf’s goal is to achieve the lowest score you can.

This fact tees up another interesting comparison between golf and marriage. Both are more enjoyable when you don’t keep score. So I try to learn from my mistakes, stay within myself, not swing too hard, savour the good shoots and let go of the bad ones. And all the while, enjoy the walk with a great companion.

One more golf joke:
Two golfers are ready to play on the 11th tee as a funeral procession motors passes by. The first player stops, removes his cap, and bows his head respectfully as the hearse passes.
“That was a really nice thing to do,” the second golfer says. “It’s good to see there is still some respect in the world.”
“Well, it’s only right,” the first golfer replies. “I was married to her for 35 years.