Sir: On Sunday, after the company had gone, the Missus and I played
a twosome of your new game of bughouse golf; but on the first
hole—“kitchen”—after a good drive off the sink, I foozled my approach
into some water from an overflowing drip pan under the icebox. I claimed
a right to lift out of casual water, but wifey said I’d forgotten to
empty the pan for several days, and that the puddle constituted a regular
hazard. Is she right?[1] Then, on the fourth hole, up the hill over the
dining table, I sliced my brassie into the sand pit, alias the sugar
bowl, and though I could get out with my mashie the ball went back into
the pit again and again and I had to use a baffy spoon. After that I got
several bogies, and didn’t blow up till I came to the “nursery,” when I
laid my approach shot dead against the kid’s toy balloon. I must have
pressed a bit, for I couldn’t find the ball afterward.