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7/8/03

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Sunday 6th July


Well! One has spent all winter bottling up the libido and if one wants to while away a weekend watching golf on television, it only means a man is growing a bit older and facing certain grisly realities. I stretch out on the leather sofa expecting a treat while the rain pours down from the heavens and my man mixes a cocktail and I've spent what little spring there has been fuming over Tiger Woods' no-shows at the sport's premier events. He seems dazed, spent, to care little for the ways of paunchy, pasty men. I can't believe it! Then, an astute correspondent sent me something that explains all. No, dear reader, it isn't a diagram of the new, faulty Tiger backswing, or an MRI of his recently repaired knee revealing that the surgeon absent-mindedly left a corn chip beneath the sutures. It is, rather, a pic of his alpha-blonde girlfriend, Elin Nordegren, a Svenska who apparently was bitten by a deer tick and suffers the agonies of babeosis. All is understood, Tiger. All is forgiven. After all, why leave your essence on nameless lawns, striding hither and yon, jaw set as though any of it mattered? None of us, in your place, would pick up a club again, or leave the house, for that matter. Don't worry about us. We'll get along, somehow.





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