When my wife sends me photos of my daughter from an afternoon of fun, I don’t expect them to be littered with images of some blond-haired interloper who appears to be getting overly friendly with my little girl.
I’m not ready for that. Not for a very, very long time.
These are the kinds of things that I want to see my daughter getting friendly with at the farm.
Bunnies would be fine, too.
Not golden-haired ne’er-do-wells.