My wife; boy does she hate golf! I'm at the course with Frank and Charlie, and they're telling me how they talked their wives into letting them play golf that day. Frank says he sent his wife a dozen red roses. Charlie promised to do all the house cleaning for a month. Here's how I handled it: The alarm goes off at 5:30 am. I roll over and say, "Intercourse or golf course?" My wife says, "Don't forget your sweater." But seriously, wives and golf? They just don't mix. Once, there was this old-timer just about to tee off next to me, when he sees a funeral procession coming. He takes off his hat, puts it over his heart, and watches solemnly as the procession goes by. I say to him, "Hey, that's really nice. You always do that when a funeral goes by? And he says, "Not usually, but it's the least I could do--I was married to the woman for 40 years!" Golf, though; what a crazy sport. I'm leaving the house to play golf with my buddy Ernie, right? But my wife stops me and says I gotta be home by 3:00. Okay, so I don't show up until 7:00. "Where were you?" my wife screams, "I was worried sick!" "Well," I tell her, "an absolutely terrible thing happened. We were on the first green, and boom! Ernie drops dead of a heart attack." "My God, that's awful!" my wife says. "You're telling me!" I say. "The rest of the day it was hit the ball, drag Ernie, hit the ball, drag Ernie...."