Awl Shook Up

I lost my awl.  I know it's around here somewhere . . . . 

Why do I need an awl?  First off, everyone needs an awl.  Y'awl  just never know when you are going to need to poke a hole in something.  

Okay - enough goofiness!  I am finishing up the centerpieces for our golf tournament tomorrow.  A majority of our golfers are men and I know men usually don't notice or care about centerpieces but I think they will like ours!  I'll post pictures in a few days.  

Here at Team HOPE we are calmly finishing up with a few last minute details.  (Semi-hysterical manic laugh.  Followed by gasps that might be laughing - or might be sobbing)  

I'm exaggerating of course, it's just that here at Team H.O.P.E.  we can't seem to do anything half-way or even just average.  Every charity in town has a golf tournament and we want ours to be the best.  Or at very least the most memorable and fun.  So we put in a few extra hours and do a few special things.  We give it our awl!   And we enjoy doing it!

While I have been making centerpieces and Tina J has been organizing awards and Jeannie has been slaving over a hot sewing machine we have also been getting in golf practice.  

The other day Tina N and Jessica took Tina's mom and aunt out to the course.  As I may have mentioned here before Tina's aunt is a very highly trained and skilled nurse.  

So the four of them are out on the course and Jessica hits a ball and it flies off sideways.  The ball hit a poor guy who was just getting out of his cart. He immediately clasped his hands together at his crotch, fell to the ground and proceeded to roll around in evident agony.

It was like one of those clips from the funny video shows, except it wasn't funny because the man was in pain and Jessica felt absolutely awful.

Our ladies rushed over to the man and immediately began to apologize. Tina’s aunt explained that she was a nurse and could help him. 

The poor man groaned and gasped out, “I'll be alright...I'll be fine in a few minutes”.  Yet he remained in the fetal position, white as a ghost, still clasping his hands together at his crotch, tears streaming from his eyes.

Tina’s aunt persisted, and he finally allowed her to help him. She gently took his hands away and laid them to the side, she loosened his pants, and she put her hands inside. She began to gently massage him. She then asked him, “How does that feel?” To which he replied, “It feels great, but my thumb still hurts like the dickens!”  

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