I write fiction, and the truth was the best I could do?

I passed on an offer to play golf after work today in favor of coming home to enjoy a picnic in the park with my wife and daughter.

I passed on stopping at the gym, worried that my wife might need a hand with our daughter before heading out to the park.

So I was home, in the midst of changing a poopy diaper, when my buddy called from the golf course, asking me what I was doing.

Stupid me, I told him.  He made sure to tell me how much fun he was having on the links, and I'm likely to hear...