By BETH BRESNAHAN
A colleague once took me to the driving range to teach me the basics. After a few swings and misses, I finally connected with the ball. It ricocheted off the divider and somehow sailed behind me, nailing him between the legs. As he folded toward the ground, I apologized profusely. I then gave away what remained of my bucket of balls while my friend tended to his. I never tried golf again. And not surprisingly, no one, especially my male friends, has since offered to teach me.