Me and Exercise are sadly not on speaking terms. We should be, but somehow we just never made it past the introductions. If Exercise were nicer to me, I wouldn't give it the cold shoulder.
But sometimes Exercise is mean. It makes me all sweaty and breathless, and turns my face red. That's not Nice. I wish Exercise wouldn't do that.
There have been times in my life (a long long time ago) when me and Exercise were at least acquaintances... back in the days when I was dating Mr G, I thought Exercise was a good idea. Me and my hunny would even go Exercise together. But it didn't last. I got married, I looked great, I quit the Gym.
Other people seem to be able to get on OK with Exercise; I have friends who rave about it... Crazy. These are otherwise normal people.
But my big butt likes comfort. I guess that's why it's gotten so cushiony lately; I've been sitting on it way too much.
Mr G has just rejoined the gym. He is about to become buff and toned and trim. Oh man.
Now I have to do something... turning 40 in 10 days with a cushiony butt and squishy tummy and a buff-toned-trim hubby??
I'll be Mrs Bigbutt and he'll be Mr Fabulous.
Did I tell you what my son said to me the other week? He was puzzling over my photoshopped Party Picture (our heads on Abba's skinny bodies).
"Mum, this picture is a bit strange... Dad looks skinny... and he's not. And you look skinny too, and you're not either!"
Oh man. I'm just gonna have to get moving.
So I did it. I signed up for the Walking School Bus. One morning a week. Woohoo.