The Golfing Nun
A nun walks into Mother Superior’s office and plunks down into a chair. She lets out a sigh heavy with frustration.
“What troubles you, Sister?” asks the Mother Superior. “I thought this was the day you spent with your family.”
“It was,” sighed the Sister. “And I went to play golf with my brother. We try to play golf as often as we can. You know I was quite a talented golfer before I devoted my life to Christ.”
“I seem to recall that,” the Mother Superior agreed. “So I take it your day of recreation was not relaxing?”
“Far from it,” snorted the Sister. “In fact, I even took the Lord’s name in vain today!”
“Goodness, Sister!” gasped the Mother Superior, astonished. “You must tell me all about it!”
“Well, we were on the fifth tee . . . and this hole is a monster, Mother – I’m talking about a 560 yard Par 5, with a nasty dog-leg left and a hidden green with creek in the front and right side. I hit the drive of my life. I creamed it. The sweetest swing I ever made. And it’s flying straight and true, right along the line I wanted . . . and it hits a bird in mid-flight not 100 yards off the tee!”
“Oh my goodness!” commiserated the Mother Superior. “How unfortunate! But surely that didn’t make you blaspheme, Sister!”
“No, that wasn’t it,” admitted the Sister. “While I was still trying to fathom what had happened, this squirrel runs out of the woods, grabs my ball and runs off down the fairway!”
“Oh, that would have made me blaspheme!” sympathized Mother Superior.
“But I didn’t!” sobbed the Sister. “And I was so proud of myself! And while I was pondering whether this was a sign from God, this hawk swoops out of the sky and grabs the squirrel and flies off, with my ball still clutched in his little paws!”
“So that’s when you cursed,” said the Mother with a knowing smile.
“Nope, that wasn’t it either,” cried the Sister, anguished, “because as the hawk started to fly out of sight, the squirrel started struggling, and the hawk dropped him right there on the green, and the ball popped out of his paws and rolled to about 18 inches from the cup!”
The Mother Superior sat back in her chair, folded her arms across her chest, looked the Sister with a baleful stare and said . . .”You missed that &*%$ putt, didn’t you?”
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