It had been years since I’d played miniature golf—or whatever you know it by: mini golf, putt putt, etc. Not for lack of interest, merely because it never came up. (I haven’t been 10-pin bowling since the 1980s for the same reason.) With summer approaching, though, I wondered about the mini golf options in the area. I was looking for some kind of outdoorsy activity that, well, didn’t make me mad. Jogging for me is aerobic denial, what I do to convince myself that it’s balancing out what little cigarette smoking I still do. I bike merely to get to nearby stores quicker. I see no need to picnic when there are cafés with air conditioning, tables and chairs, and people who bring me food. I love tennis, but I’m awful at it. And camping? If God wanted us to camp, she wouldn’t have given us boutique hotels that put designer bath products in their cute washrooms.