Can Steel Be Wrapped In Flannel?
Absolutely no portion of my anatomy should be made of steel. There's just no NEED for it.
Our beagle's knees are now made almost entirely from steel, which is why the usual warm weather "fitness routine" is on hold. We "work out" via a leisurely walk in which the beagle stops and sniffs every blade of grass ever assaulted by other life forms. She's trained herself to pee in six drop increments, so as to make a full bladder last. No matter how carefully she plans, she runs out before we get home. She won't admit it, and continues to stop at every rock and signpost, straining and squeezing and grunting. She will die trying to wring the last drop from her urinary tract in a frantic attempt to leave her mark on this cold and unfeeling world. Since she was raised with mostly male dogs, she does this marking in a weird half squat, half lifted leg position.
We think this posture may be related to the repeated knee injuries.
But at any rate, she's got stitches, metal plates and screws, and a plastic collar that prevents wound licking but gets her stuck under the coffee table. There will be no fitness walks for two months, maybe more.
I purchased a "fitness DVD" in a fit of self-loathing six weeks ago. It purports to turn various troublesome bits into taut hairless cables covered with lycra. I felt better about myself the next morning, and stuck the box with its steely ass photo in between "Star Trek: Season Three" and "Stargate: Season One."
This morning, as I stumbled into the kitchen with bleary eyes to give the beagle her medication and breakfast, I caught my reflection in the microwave door and found myself frozen like the victim of a Medusa. As I gazed back at my morning hair, my glasses, my plaid flannel bathrobe, and the personal bits made of something that was DEFINITELY NOT STEEL, I thought that maybe this was what the magazines meant by "letting yourself go."
So I rescued the DVD from its exile in the furthest reaches of our galaxy, and popped it in the player. After the workout, I was chock full of endorphins and good will towards man and beagle. That lasted approximately seventeen seconds, and as I dragged my quivering limbs to the bedroom, I called out to my beloved mate. (My mate, who earlier heard the Warner Brothers theme music coming from the living room, and thought, why the hell is she putting in a movie at 8:30 AM. Notice that he did not associate "his wife" with "fitness DVD.")
I said, "There is no portion of my anatomy that should be made of steel." He, being an exceptionally intelligent man and quick of wit, answered me with "Mrmph" in a very reassuring tone. As Guy 3 puts it, my mate has mastered Advanced Husband skills.
Our beagle's knees are now made almost entirely from steel, which is why the usual warm weather "fitness routine" is on hold. We "work out" via a leisurely walk in which the beagle stops and sniffs every blade of grass ever assaulted by other life forms. She's trained herself to pee in six drop increments, so as to make a full bladder last. No matter how carefully she plans, she runs out before we get home. She won't admit it, and continues to stop at every rock and signpost, straining and squeezing and grunting. She will die trying to wring the last drop from her urinary tract in a frantic attempt to leave her mark on this cold and unfeeling world. Since she was raised with mostly male dogs, she does this marking in a weird half squat, half lifted leg position.
We think this posture may be related to the repeated knee injuries.
But at any rate, she's got stitches, metal plates and screws, and a plastic collar that prevents wound licking but gets her stuck under the coffee table. There will be no fitness walks for two months, maybe more.
I purchased a "fitness DVD" in a fit of self-loathing six weeks ago. It purports to turn various troublesome bits into taut hairless cables covered with lycra. I felt better about myself the next morning, and stuck the box with its steely ass photo in between "Star Trek: Season Three" and "Stargate: Season One."
This morning, as I stumbled into the kitchen with bleary eyes to give the beagle her medication and breakfast, I caught my reflection in the microwave door and found myself frozen like the victim of a Medusa. As I gazed back at my morning hair, my glasses, my plaid flannel bathrobe, and the personal bits made of something that was DEFINITELY NOT STEEL, I thought that maybe this was what the magazines meant by "letting yourself go."
So I rescued the DVD from its exile in the furthest reaches of our galaxy, and popped it in the player. After the workout, I was chock full of endorphins and good will towards man and beagle. That lasted approximately seventeen seconds, and as I dragged my quivering limbs to the bedroom, I called out to my beloved mate. (My mate, who earlier heard the Warner Brothers theme music coming from the living room, and thought, why the hell is she putting in a movie at 8:30 AM. Notice that he did not associate "his wife" with "fitness DVD.")
I said, "There is no portion of my anatomy that should be made of steel." He, being an exceptionally intelligent man and quick of wit, answered me with "Mrmph" in a very reassuring tone. As Guy 3 puts it, my mate has mastered Advanced Husband skills.
posted by Sanya at 10:09 AM
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