Bob 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, Jim, asked, "What the hell is taking you so long?"
   "My wife is up there watching me from the clubhouse balcony," Bob explained. "I want to make this a perfect shot."
   "You're nuts, Bob!" Jim exclaimed. "You haven't got a snowball's chance in Hell of hitting her from here."