He opened the back hatch of his SUV, the place where his golf clubs will live during the next several months. On Thursdays, Nick plays in a golf league, and the first game of the season is in a few days. Walking into the garage, he grabbed two pairs of shoes and threw them in the back with the rest of the golf paraphernalia. Back in the glory days of 2006, I had golf lesson with Brenda—as you can tell from that entry, we learned more than enough from that first go that we didn't really see the need to go back.

In any event, the instructor never covered golf shoes; I had to ask.

"So, why two different shoes? Is one pair for wet conditions and the other for dry?"

(Nick) "Nope."

"Is one pair to change into after the game is over?"

(Nick) "Nope."

"Are you giving one pair to a teammate?"

(Nick) "Nope."

The sound of crickets was suddenly deafening as I stared him down.

"WHAT'S WITH THE SHOES?" Damn, I wish I had finished those lessons with Brenda, 'cause this was just plain irritating.

(Nick) "I pick which pair I wear depending if black or brown goes better with my outfit."

…

Ah, my little metrosexual. I should have guessed. Screw golf lessons: we left at our peak.