Do we have to go to the gym?
Yes.
Why?
If we don't, I can't eat ice cream every night. If I can't eat ice cream every night, I'll be very cross like Sir Topham Hatt. I'll also be as big as Sir Topham Hatt because chances are, I'll still eat the ice cream. BTW, do you know how bad I'd look in a tux?
[Confused] Oh.
I tried to put it into terms His-Doobieness would understand. But, of course I confused my son. To the gym we went.
I love to torture myself a few times a week in hopes of increasing my life expectancy. Yesterday was the Abu Ghraib of wellness. Pump class was insane. At one point, the routine went something like this: push-ups, plank for :30, push-ups, plank for :60, push-ups, plank for 1:00, push-ups, plank 'til you cry like a freakin' baby.
Why am I subjecting myself to this torture, I thought? Is it necessary to be bikini-ready when you're pushing 40? Do I need arms like Samantha Harris so I can wear sleeveless shirts and flex like an asshole when I hold my beer at parties? Do I need curvy calves so I can wear above-the-knee skirts never intended for women my age? Yes. Yes. And, hells yes! This girl wants great gams and big guns. I want to dress like my babysitter and pretend I'm younger!
Dios mio.
Another high point in the class was when we had to partner up for ab work. My friend, J-Bomb shot me a "what-the-hell-are-we-in-for" look. Or maybe it was a "you-smell-like-ass-I-don't-want-you-near-me-look." Either way, I was her partner. She was stuck.
We were told to assume the ab-crunch position. Then we had to interlace our sneakers and sit up simultaneously. After we crunched to the top, we had to slap each other's hands. Talk about tough. It turned into a game of patty cake. Talk about immature.
I can't do it!
Try!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!
Squeeze my sneaker with your sneakers when you sit up!
I AM SQUEEZING!
Miss Susie had a steamboat. The steamboat had a bell! Miss Susie went to heaven, the steam boat went to HELL-o, operator...
If we didn't laugh, we'd cry. A little levity always helps you through -- not to mention the goal of looking hotter than your babysitter.
5 comments:
But I don't wanna look like my babysitter...she's got dentures and wears support hose!
Uh. Oh. Maybe her granddaughter? ;}
I grew up on Miss Susie! Your blog is awesome. :)
Thank you! And, you're awesome for saying that. :)
Waving "hi" to Auds.
I am with you on insisting on still wearing the above-the-knee skirts, although I guess the perspective is that it all depends on what your babysitter LOOKS like!
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