It must be love because there is no other reason to explain why I was outside in the 93 degree weather playing wiffle ball with a four year old. You see, they can’t hit that well. And when they throw the ball back to you it usually ends up nowhere near where you are standing. We worked some on the throwing back part, so that eventually I didn’t have to move much. But for the most part, I was counting the minutes until we could go back inside.
Does that make me a bad person?