We haven’t spent a Friday night with Honey Jr and Honey’s Honey in ages. Ages I tell you. Between her being in bee school in the Côte d’Azur, him being smack dab in the thick of honey harvesting season, and us being all over the place, the weeks have slipped by without a get together so the Friday night before The Husband’s birthday we decided to change that.
Of course foosball isn’t called foosball in France, it’s called babyfoot, and it took Honey Jr and The Husband all of five minutes before taking it over and turning our fun Friday night into one of extreme competitive competition (babyfoot is very serious stuff).
Honey Jr is like a babyfoot Jedi Master. He’s ridiculously good. Me, not so much. I tried playing for a few minutes but my left hand is about as useless as an appendage could be. I could probably cut it off and be none the wiser. And The Husband, well for him force = skill, so the ball kept being hit so hard it was flying off of the table and bouncing on down to the dining tables. Luckily, most of the diners had finished and left.
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