It's Fathers' Day. Happy day to any of you who may have caused a woman to birth a baby, married a woman who had previously come by a baby, chosen to adopt a baby or have a furrbaby (aww so cute!). It is your day and I assume you will use it to do something the merits of which I wholly do not understand because I have lady bits.
By this I mean play golf.
Every Father's' Day Daddy goes out and plays a round of golf. This is generally at Dahling's insistence so I'm not entirely sure he even always wants to go but none the less, this is what he does. The problem is that he only plays one or two other times a year so most of his day is spent wandering into the brush, hitting the ball into water traps and usually injuring a muscle or two. Happy Fathers' Day to you, with earlaps.
I know there are women who enjoy golf, but the phenomenon overwhelmingly an affliction of men. What exactly is it that makes a man desire to take a slim stick and hit an odd looking little ball very far away forcing themselves to go chase after it over and over again I will never understand. I get the having drinks at the clubhouse afterward bit, but couldn't we just skip to that?
Daddy is an awesome man though, and if golf makes him happy then I hope he has all the golf he can stand (again, I'm pretty sure this is 1 round). He has always been there to support me and cheer me on, and sometimes to commiserate about how crazy, out of her gourd Dahling can get. He gave me my love of classic rock, my penchant for terrible jokes, and my understanding of what is important in life.
Happy Fathers' Day, Daddy!
... look, I don't have a ton of my own baby pictures, okay?!