Darling invisible friend, life, as I know it, is over.
Of course I'm being melodramatic. What are you, new? Have you met me? I thought we had this aspect of me firmly established.
And yes, I am going to whine. Get the cheese.
Not that kind. The good kind. No, I'll wait. No rush.
All right, let me see...yes, much better choice. Now. Where was I? Oh, yes. End of the world.
Roommate has located a personal trainer for us. I know. All I can say is:
We met with her last night. She's a delightful creature, really, despite her blonde prettiness and relentless fitness. I am trying not to hold this against her. She is, and I shudder as I type this, enthusiastic about working with us.
While she is appropriately priced, even seeing her once a week will outstrip the costs of my dog's water therapy. And while this is a perfectly reasonable amount of money to spend on this type of service, the thought of spending the equivalent of a monthly car payment on exercise and other tortures is pretty horrifying to me. I would far rather spend that money elsewhere, on other things. Like a car.
And she's going to make us do things that involve core strength, of all horrors. We're going to be required to do cardio things at home. She "likes running."
Why is it no one will shoot me??????
It's not even 2012 and the world is ending. Bet the Mayans never saw this coming.