I enjoy playing golf with women. When a woman hits a bad shot, she does not throw her golf club and yell “f___!” at the top of her lungs. On the other hand, there is a silver lining whenever one of my male golfing buddies loses his cool. As soon as the clubs start to fly, I know I’m going home with the money.
I grew up with a golf club in my hands, a blonde ten-year old kid in Japan playing golf with the adult local yokels at a course down the street from my house. These guys were hustlers, but they seemed to think it was fun playing with the American kid who lived in the neighborhood. They taught me a lot of Japanese profanities, none of which were ever yelled at the top of our lungs.