Worse Than a Baby Ruth
This past weekend, on Mother’s Day, we took the Detective to his second swim class of the year.
It’s his second year in such a class; his first went well so we were looking forward to this one. This year we’ve been twice, and it’s not going quite as well – a year older now, he is a lot more aware of what he’s doing and a lot more aggressive in letting us know when he doesn’t want to be doing it.
We assume he’ll be okay after a few sessions, but such expectations are being thwarted by the fact that the second class was cut short, by something out of Caddyshack.
Are there any candy bars that look like vomit?