Marty stood over his tee shot for what seemed an eternity. He waggled, looked up, looked down, waggled again, but didn’t start his backswing.
Finally his exasperated partner asked, “What the hell is taking so long?”
“My wife is up there watching me from the clubhouse,” Marty explained, “and I want to hit the perfect shot.”
“You can forget about that!” his companion exclaimed. “There’s no way in hell of hitting her from here.”