Thursday, a pile of clothes suggested I take a trip to the gym. Upon further examination, I determined that the pile of clothes did not, in fact, develop the faculties for verbal communication--it was my son buried underneath them who had spoken. As far as I can tell, he'd built himself a nice little nest in there, and had been surviving off the harvest of crumbs they offered.
As happy as I was to observe his mad skillz at adapting to harsh environments, I thought he might also have a point about the gym thing. I hadn't been in months, and I could definitely tell. When a walk to the mailbox in front of your house seems like something to do when you have more energy, it's time to hit the elliptical.
So, we went. And it wasn't bad. I did an hour on the treadmill, and did some upper body weights. It felt good. I felt good.
Then came the next day.
So much pain!
Whoever among you says "No pain, no gain," I will make it my mission in life to teach you the true meaning of that expression. And I can, 'cause check me out...
Yep. One day of lifting gives you the freakishly sculpted body of a female bodybuilder. Who knew?!
I've never been so toned and defined! So able to crush small foreign cars with a flex of my giant biceps. It's awesome!
In the wrong hands, this newfound strength could be something to fear, but I have vowed to use my powers only for good. To prove my point, I've kept a photo diary of my day.
Here I am grocery shopping for elderly shut-ins. I'm in the juice aisle, stocking up on Clamato and prune. Old people love juice!
Here you see me giving a puppet show to under-privileged Nicaraguan kids. Sure, I probably could have used the money I spent on the flight down there to buy them 8 laptops instead, but what were they going to do with 8 laptops? They didn't even have electricity.
And, finally, I vacuumed David Soul's pleasure den. It smelled like wet dog and broken dreams. Poor Hutch.
I think tomorrow I might solve the world's hunger crisis. Or buy some clothes that fit. We'll see.