Matt Gaetz has the kind of mug only a mother could love.

I don’t know much about his mom, but it’s clear that Gaetz is essentially a Daddy’s Boy. His pops served in the Florida State Senate for 10 years, and his granddaddy was the mayor of an infinitesimal burg called Rugby, North Dakota, who ran unsuccessfully for lieutenant governor of the Peace Garden State (I know — doesn’t seem to fit, does it?) in 1964 — his bid abruptly cut short when he dropped dead of a heart attack on the state GOP convention floor. …

Trying to follow tiny white balls soaring over chemically enhanced expanses of green; wearing long pants, even on the hottest of days; donning expensive flamingo-colored collared shirts because, well, the sport’s fashion dictates that one must. Telling offensive jokes that make your foursome guffaw in those uncertain “har, har, har” chuckles that attempt to tell us you’re some kind of macho, macho, macho man.

Right.

Don’t give me the business about the Game of Kings (per some Scottish dude) and “no shortcuts on the quest for perfection” (Ben Hogan). I’ve never lived the game, but I’ve lived right next to…

Like a toddler plunging forward into a whole new world, I’m doing the one step forward, two steps back tango these days.

In the 389 days — give or take an hour, or a week, depending upon who is figuring all this out — that I’ve limited my in-person activities this past year or so, I’m feeling bolder than ever.

I’m going to the grocery store again today. I even ventured to Costco — my COVID-19 nemesis — a couple of weeks ago. I made the great leap in March, and actually flew on an airplane. …

Every year at this time, I dusted off my mad English Teacher Skills. Dove back into my literary archives. Prepared to amaze a group of 16- and 17-year-olds with what I knew. And what they should know, too.

Teenagers are a fragile bunch, at least in suburban public schools. They’re often protected from the outside world, and if they meet with a challenge, it usually involves a position on the JV soccer team or a role in the school’s Spring Musical.

But these kids are also resilient, and they’re fierce. And, for the most part, they know that they should…

…believe Q. Wait, you do?

…know deep down in your heart that The Former Guy is still president.

…think Matt Gaetz is something other than a hot mess.

…share Lauren Boebert’s gun fetish.

…are pretty sure someone stole the election from Florida Man.

…lend your support to the idea that Major League Baseball is wrong to move the All Star game out of Atlanta.

…accept the premise that everything you see on Fox “News” is true.

…turn the boob tube to Maximum DEFCON 10 so you won’t miss any of Sean Hannity’s lies.

…refuse to wear a mask because, well…

The 10-year-old wanted to pick the movie. Friday night meant Mommy and Daddy were going out, so she planned her evening carefully.

A trip to Blockbuster with her older cousin to select a special flick was in order — no parents, natch, allowed in the process. Also picked up a Tombstone — frozen pizza of the strictly pepperoni variety.

Frankly, I wasn’t that worried about the girls hanging out without me — at 10 and 13, they were more than capable of heating up dinner and popping the flick into the DVD player, especially if their 17- and 15-year-old cousins…