Getting Old...
Let me preface this post by stating that I unconditionally support G's golfing. I think it's great that he gets outside and golfs regularly. But on with our story...
Last night, G went to the driving range to hit golf balls, and Little B was *not* happy about it. This morning, Little B crawled in bed with me, looking for G. I told him that G was golfing with Mike (a weekly occurrence, so it shouldn't be a surprise for him). Little B looked at me and said flatly, "I'm going to have a talk with Daddy about all this golf. It's getting old."
Last night, G went to the driving range to hit golf balls, and Little B was *not* happy about it. This morning, Little B crawled in bed with me, looking for G. I told him that G was golfing with Mike (a weekly occurrence, so it shouldn't be a surprise for him). Little B looked at me and said flatly, "I'm going to have a talk with Daddy about all this golf. It's getting old."
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