Who is the person that told the woman in my kickboxing class this morning that it is okay to wear a black thong with thin white cotton shorts? Who? WHO?
Holy Moses Milkin' a Cow. This is the YMCA, people. I realize there's a history there with the Village People and all, but a little modesty before noon, please.
And if that weren't bad enough, the most villainous case of epilleptic-aerobics- instructor-on-crack known to man posted herself right in front of me in class, fake boobs and all. And yes, they were definitely of the non-human tissue variety. No natural ta-ta's could have stayed so still with all the spazzing this Betty was doing. Not to be rude (heh), but, like, um jazzercise went out like, um 20 years ago, dude. Seriously. Remember that one Friends episode where Phoebe and Rachel go running and Phoebe gets all spastic? This was THE EXACT SAME THING, but instead of being able to run, run away, I was forced to endure the entire class directly behind her. And she's not even the instructor.
Even with all the flinging-limb-dodging, I was able to find the good. (Yes, I have gone Pollyanna) Her head was the perfect aim for my jabs. Never had such a good shoulder workout in my life.
Ryan and Shawn are at the Round Rock game with Paw-Paw and Cameron, huddled amongst all the thousands of fans stalking Roger Clemens, so Jax and I had date night, which meant we "shared" dinner -- he actually ate everything on his plate and mine-- then he did a dump and went to bed while I sat watching a movie.alone.in the dark.
It's good to know that not everything changes from generation to generation. I'm pretty sure Shawn and I have been on some dates just like that...