When I was a little kid, my mom became the best friend of a woman who had a daughter around my age. The two of us would end up in forced playdates every time they wanted to hang out.
Since we both had terrible tempers and brought up the worst of each other, our relationship was tense at best and violent at worst. Our mothers didn’t seem to care. As we grew up, though, this changed. I realized that while we were sitting together on the couch, texting in silence. She looked up for a second and said, “This is way better than beating the crap out of each other with plastic golf clubs.”
From NAR>com:
When I was a little kid, my mom became the best friend of a woman who had a daughter around my age. The two of us would end up in forced playdates every time they wanted to hang out.
Since we both had terrible tempers and brought up the worst of each other, our relationship was tense at best and violent at worst. Our mothers didn’t seem to care. As we grew up, though, this changed. I realized that while we were sitting together on the couch, texting in silence. She looked up for a second and said, “This is way better than beating the crap out of each other with plastic golf clubs.”
I had to agree.