“You know,” Younger mused while we drove to an appointment. “I’ve decided I’m the second most mature person in our family.”
I cast him a sidelong glance. “I’m assuming I’m the one you consider the most mature?”
“Well, yeah.” He gave me a puzzled look. “Have you not met the rest of us?”
Yes, I have.
Why do you think I write?
Because it’s cheaper than therapy.