February 15, 2008

Golf widow - no sympathy required

I officially became a golf widow today. For the first time ever, my husband is on a golf vacation with three other guys. It is a much needed break for him from the 60 to 75 hour work weeks he has had of late. Okay, I'll admit that I wasn't too thrilled that he was leaving on Valentine's day and even less thrilled when he was supposed to go to Boston yesterday for business and was supposed to start his vacation from there. But the weather was not cooperating yesterday and he never made it to Boston. So he worked at home today and we were able to enjoy a nice lunch together

I have been so blessed to have a husband who does not object, but rather encourages me to have some time away with friends to enjoy things that he doesn't enjoy. I play tennis and ski - he doesn't. He plays golf and is involved with an antique car club. Golf is not my favorite sport and while I like our old cars, I have no interest in going to a car show and sitting around all day talking about them. I might concede on the golf, but I prefer to walk the course while he prefers to ride in the cart.

What I have found amusing is that people don't think twice when a husband goes on a golf vacation. But when I have mentioned that I am going on a trip with my girl friend to the Caribbean or go with other friends to ski, the reaction that I get is often "And your husband doesn't mind?" Do I detect a double standard there?

No one has asked me if I mind that my husband is on an all guy golf trip. And if they did, my answer would be a resounding "no." And I am pretty sure that if someone asked him if he minds that I go away, his answer is the same. We respect each others interests and are happy that we can continue to enjoy those interests. One thing that I think would drive both of us crazy is if we did everything together. I love my husband, but I need some space. I think he feels the same.

In the words of Martha Stewart (who my late father-in-law taught in high school), trust - it's a good thing.

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