When Nancy visited St. Simons Island between Christmas and New Year's last year, she only wanted to do two things: play golf and meet Davis Love, III. However, the weather, behaving badly, dumped rain and cold air all over Gods little acre.

On the other hand, New Years Eve was just around the corner, so we, being grown women, focused instead on the upside of preparing party food. The downside? My cupboard, like Mother Hubbards, was seriously bare.

We grabbed raincoats and umbrellas and took off to nearby Tweeters. Nancy sat in the passenger seat pouting and whining about the rain and how it had messed up her vacation. "We have better weather in New Jersey," she hissed.

I rolled my eyes. "December weather in New Jersey does not shout sunshine to me, girlfriend." I sighed. "You are in the Deep South now; do like Scarlett OHara. Tomorrow is another day."

She shot me a serious Yankee look. "The Weather Channel is calling for rain the entire week."

If Babe couldn't play golf, he would be just like Nancy: stir-crazy within 12 hours. I don't know a nine-iron from a hockey stick, but one thing I DO know: neither Nancy nor Babe like to suffer alone. They will recruit me to suffer with them. Uh oh.

Nancy suddenly said, as if I needed a reminder of her hero worship, "I read the book Davis Love wrote." Whenever Davis competes in a tournament, she plants herself in front of the wide-screen TV she bought especially so he would be life-size.

"Nancy, I thought you read his book several years ago."

She shot me a look. "Have you been sniffing Babes golf shoes again? I read it every week. It's my Bible."

I might have known.

We chatted about life in St. Simons Island, the six golf courses and our one, bonafide golf celebrity. I reminded her that Davis Love was a family man with a wife and kids, just in case she had any whacko ideas of stalking him.

"Why dont we bop over to the Davis Love Grill right now? We can shop later. Maybe he'll be there biting into a cheeseburger," she suggested.

Hero worship is a difficult hole to put.

"Maybe tomorrow," I said quickly. "Today we cook." Pouting, she sighed like Melanie Wilkes.

Did I say we were both grownups?

It was raining and there was only one open parking space, a long way from the store.

"Lets wait in the car till it lets up, Nancy," I suggested. Still brooding, she sighed as though Mother Nature had sent a special dark cloud just for her. Even the inside car windows were fogged up, as if competing with Nancy's doom and gloom.

Suddenly there was a tap, tap, tap on my foggy window. This being a small community, I figured it to be one of my friends, but I was wrong. A man wearing a rain-soaked ball cap stood outside the car getting drenched.

"Excuse me. I don't mean to bother you," he said with a smile, "but you ladies need to be careful getting out of the car because you're parked in a large puddle." He tipped his waterlogged cap and said, "I thought you should know." He was gone before we could thank him.

Nancy stared at his retreating figure, slack-jawed, as if looking at a ghost.

"Breathe, Nancy," I said. Her face had gone from apple red to whiter than grits white.

She looked at me as though seeing me for the first time ever, even though we had been friends for forty years. "That was. Was. Ummm."

"Davis Love, III," I said gently when I realized she was flirting with cardiac arrest.

When words found their way from her brain to her mouth, they tumbled out like dominoes. "Nobody will ever believe this. Was that really him? It wasn't an out-of-body experience? There really is a Davis Love, isnt there?"

I grabbed my umbrella. "Yes, Virginia, aka Nancy. There IS a Davis Love III. He exists as certainly as golf balls and mulligans exist, and they abound and give to your life its highest meaning. Alas! How dreary would be the world if there were no Davis Loves.' Now, get out of the car and let's go shop for groceries."

Nancy ducked her head and giggled. "I can't."

"And why the heck not?

She giggled again. "I got excited and ... um ... I'm not wearing Depends."

Did I say we were both grownups?