Saturday, 5 May 2012


Other than contemplating the sadness of one's life, a good pastime is exercise. This may come in many different forms but, for me, this tends to be:
A. Running for the bus after spending a zillion light years fixing your hair so it perfectly covers your too-small ears, then messing up your masterpiece by having to run for the bus where the sadistic driver thinks it's a good idea to stop, wait until you approach the bus and then drive off at Top Gear speed.
B. Going to the gym. WARNING: this place is synonymous with the word 'Torture' and 'Embarrassment', since the girls there run on the running machines on Level 8 (practically the hardest level) and neither sweat, nor make unattractive puffing noises and manage not to collapse. It's a most depressing sight. I'll admit, though, seeing boys doing those arm-pulley machines is a bonus.
C. Sprinting to the fridge. Don't lie - you do it, too! It's the excitement of the unknown - what mysterious and (hopefully) edible substance will you find? Must admit, my life is a thrilling rollercoaster...
D. Going for a jog - LOL JK, the nearest I get is to my driveway and then I do a 180 degree turn.

So, chums, the message of this is: you don't need a man when you can be your own Macho Man :)
I'll remember that when I'm sitting here, drowning my sorrorws in the multitudes of Rolo Yoghurts which await me in my fridge.

Keep you posted when I can no longer fit through my front door,
Grammar Gal xxx

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