A nun returns to the convent after playing a round of golf and approaches the Mother Superior.
“Mother Superior,” she begins, “I need to confess. I used the Lord’s name in vain today.”
The Mother Superior looks concerned. “Oh dear, what happened?”
The nun explains, “I was playing so well—on pace to break 80 for the first time ever. All I needed was a par on the 18th hole. I hit a perfect drive, straight down the fairway, but a sudden gust of wind pushed it into the rough.”
“Was that when you said it?” the Mother Superior asks.
“No, I managed to stay calm,” the nun replies. “Then I hit a solid 8-iron to the center of the green—but out of nowhere, a squirrel ran up, grabbed the ball, and dragged it into the bunker.”
Mother Superior gasps. “Surely that’s when you lost your temper?”
“Still no,” the nun says. “I kept it together and hit an incredible bunker shot. The ball stopped just 18 inches from the cup.”
The Mother Superior leans forward, narrowing her eyes. “Let me guess—you missed the damn putt, didn’t you?”
