Mitch and I go golfing at Emerald Greens today and he reads me the riot act for not visiting him and Lisa and their new baby recently. I feel kind of bad – upon reflection I realize that I may have Kid Issues, which I won’t go into here. Let’s just say that it’s a combination of Peter Pan Syndrome, a feeling of inadequacy, and the fact that I could crush a child’s skull with my bare hands if I lost control. Kids make me nervous.
So I apologize to Mitch, but I still kick his ass at golf.
It's like Bridget Jones' Diary, but with a super-powered vigilante.
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