I lay in bed this morning, half buried under the folds of down comforters, watching morning slowly become afternoon. I read every word of Rolling Stone and bargained with myself that in another fifteen minutes, I'd get up in earnest.
Finally, the RSF called and badgered me out of bed.
"We're going to the gym in 45 minutes. I'll be on your porch and I am immune to your whining."
He, however, was not immune to my powers of negotiation. A trip to the gym became a trip to the grocery store for red meat, Girl Scout cookie ice cream and curly fries.
That's what's called going to the gym, Sunday style.
Posted by This Fish at February 22, 2004 11:06 PMthat's my kind of style, girl!
Posted by: sassylittlepunkin at February 22, 2004 11:11 PMWait a minute here... they make girl scout ice cream?!?!?! Damn those little girls are industrious. Is there a thin mint variety??
Posted by: Ari at February 22, 2004 11:51 PMIs the ice cream made from real Girl Scouts? (ba-DUMP-bump)
Posted by: Lex at February 23, 2004 06:16 AMHigh five to Lex on the comment; high five to you on your powers of negotiation.
Posted by: Michael at February 24, 2004 03:47 PM