It was a typical evening, and my typical routine: came home from work about 10:45 p.m., poured myself a glass of wine, and sat down to watch a few minutes of television before bedtime. What wasn’t typical was that I had exhausted my stash of recorded shows on my ReplayTV and was forced to channel surf in real-time. What also wasn’t typical was I ended up watching the Golf Channel.

Usually, I ignore the Golf Channel. I was lured in under false pretenses — the channel guide promised me “Hootie and the Blowfish”. I LIKE Hootie and the Blowfish. Back when I was in college at the University of South Carolina, they were just a local bar band. So I tuned in. Sure they were playing golf, but they were playing on a course back home on the coast, and I love the scenery. It was their annual After-The-Masters Celebrity Pro-Am Tournament, filmed in April so the weather was gorgeous. And then…

Ah, the joy of being able to pause live TV. I backed it up, watched the shot again, paused it, and did it over again. Mike comes wandering down from the bedroom, lured by the sound of my “Oh My God!”s from the living room. I play it over again for him.

There, on television, playing golf with Hootie and the Blowfish and Tom Watson and Sister Hazel were three people that could only be my ex-husband, ex-brother-in-law, and ex-father-in-law. Golf clubs in hand, khaki shorts and collared knit shirts — the type of clothing I saw them in almost every day. On a South Carolina golf course. Not too far fetched to think it could be them. After all, my other ex-brother-in-law went to school with one of the Blowfish.

I haven’t seen any of my ex-relations since the divorce back in 1998. My ex-hubby Walter seems to have gained most of his weight back; I had heard that he had most of his tattoos removed. I had heard rumors that he had gotten remarried (poor girl). His dad Mickey was looking better than he did when I last saw him, and brother Rick has gained a little weight. It seemed perfectly normal that Walter was standing apart from his dad and brother, leaning on his club, scowling. He never did like being around his family.