The “Batam Golf Trip” is the oldest trick in the book for a Singaporean man, and I honestly can’t believe I’m actually doing it.
Last weekend, I told my wife I was heading over to Batam with some ex-colleagues for a “intensive 2D1N golf retreat.” I even dragged my old, dusty TaylorMade bag out of the bomb shelter, making sure she saw me cleaning the irons in the living room while we watched Channel 8 news. I complained about the ferry prices at Tanah Merah and the humidity, just to add that layer of authenticity.
The truth is, I haven’t touched a golf club in three years. My swing is non-existent, and I couldn’t tell a birdie from a bogey if my life depended on it.
While she thought I was sweating it out under the sun at Tering Bay, I was actually checked into a private villa on the other side of the island. There was no 18-hole course. Instead, there was a private pool, a fully stocked bar, and a group of female friends who were definitely not “ex-colleagues.”
We spent the entire weekend doing exactly what I told her I’d be doing, just with different “sticks and balls.” Yes only my stick but not trying to hehe as much as I can
To her, golf is a status symbol; pool is a waste of time.
I came home Sunday night, feigning a sore shoulder and “sunburn” (which was actually just a mild heat rash from the villa’s sauna). I even brought back a box of Kueh Lapis as a peace offering. She praised me for “staying active” and getting some sun. I feel like a fraud, but honestly? My break-off shot has never been cleaner. I just don’t think she’d ever understand that some men prefer the cue to the driver.