Listening to the radio the other day, I learned a most useful fact: going mini-golfing on a first date is nothing short of half-witted. The woman who called in "couldn't think of a worse choice for a first date." Her reason? She's terrible at it. Lame. I, for one, think mini-golf would be much more enjoyable than sitting at a table and eating for a few hours. More out-of-the-ordinary, too.
On another note, adorable six-year-old Mari, the girl I babysit, tugged at my neckline and peered down my shirt today, only to exclaim, "What IS that pink thing???" "That pink thing" was my bra, but I was hardly about to tell her that with her two brothers in earshot. So I clutched my neckline back and shrugged my shoulders. She's a knucklehead, that one.
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