John stood over his tee shot on the 450 yard 18th hole for what seemed an eternity.
He waggled, looked up, looked down, waggled again, but didn't start his back swing.
Finally his exasperated partner asked, 'What the hell is taking so long?'
'My wife is watching me from the clubhouse balcony,' John explained. 'I want to make a perfect shot.'
His companion rolled his eyes and said, 'You don't have a chance in Friggin’ hell of hitting her from here.