I just sold my soul for a chance at a new driver.

Well, maybe not my soul, exactly, but my address, phone number, and email. If they’d asked for my social security number and mother’s maiden name I probably would’ve handed them over too.

It began when I got an email from a reputable golf agency querying whether I’d like to participate in a golf survey, and enter a DRAWING for some new EQUIPMENT.

Like Pavlov’s dog, I began salivating before I even started filling out the first question: How do TaylorMade products perform against other golf equipment? I could just picture it, a new 11-degree, giant-headed driver clobbering my ProV1x’s to a land far, far away.

It was a lengthy survey, and it was abundantly clear by the time I reached page 5 (out of 9) that it wasn’t from some neutral party. It was clearly a shill for TaylorMade, going on and on about TaylorMade irons, TaylorMade woods, blah blah blah until I was doing the equivalent of Christmas Tree’ing the bubbles.

Now 30 minutes of my life are gone and I can’t get them back. So why did I do it? Why did I proffer up all that information about myself faster than Cheap Bastard getting in line at the Golden Corral? I feel shame.

Because frankly, I don’t even care about TaylorMade. I’m a Callaway gal. And no amount of advertisement will lead me to switch. Except, apparently, the promise of a new driver.

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