Dear Woman Who Stepped in a Mudpuddle

You were out jogging.  This usually takes place out in nature.  Nature is where birds poop everywhere, bees have sex with the birds, and the all powerful Snarly Yowl lords over all of creation.  You should understand that there are certain elements involved in this activity, seeing as you bought a fancy pair of sneakers specifically for this pursuit.  Just because you are running on a golf course, this does not suddenly make nature go away.  The course is not AstroTurf, and the bunkers are not filled with cotton candy.  Also, it is not a running course.  There are people hitting hard little projectiles at high speeds, and usually with little to no control over the trajectory.  Now that we've come to that understanding, you can understand why the pro shop attendant and I looked so confused to see you hopping on one foot into the pro shop, holding a muddy shoe in one hand.

It seems your eyes were momentarily taken off the prize as you were training to be the most tan and closest to 70 lb soccer mom at your kid's school's bake sale next month.  Apparently you stepped right into a mud puddle not fifteen feet from the pro shop.  I know this because you all but dragged the attendant outside to show him the puddle.  I, of course, followed because, well, who wouldn't.    The attendant did not give in to your hysteria, and simply asked you what you would like him to do.  You are smarter than both of us, because you were the only one of us that knew that it was the golf course's fault for having a mud puddle, and not your fault for stepping in the one hazard with 100 square yards.  You insisted that he launder your shoe, because of the injustice visited upon you.

I don't even want to think why you thought that a country club would have the facilities to launder a shoe, or why you would in fact trust them to do so.  I don't want to think about why you assume that you are owed this either.  Frankly, you made my brain hurt, and I was forced to simply proclaim loudly that the world no longer makes any sense, and then try to make you bleed from the eyes with my poor injured brain.