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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.

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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. 


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