Estimated reading time: 2 minutes
Estimated reading time: 2 minutes
It’s Wednesday, which means it’s time for our weekly pilgrimage to the House of Pain, where we pay professional ninjas to legally assault us under the guise of ‘wellness’. First, we enter the establishment carefully so they do not see us, and we hop on the stationary bikes facing the parking lot, fingers crossed that we were not seen. Then, we are off to the races, generally cycling 4-6 miles at a blazing speed that would make the Tour de France professionals green with envy.
Around 9:00 am, we are discovered, and our trainers come to get us (usually with an oxygen bottle in hand!). Then, it’s snap-crackle-pop time for the next hour, and our poor bones and muscles are tormented by adept, crack, expert, master, proficient, and skillful providers of pain!
When we hear the local train whistle at 10:00 am, we bolt from the facility and run to the car, careen out of the parking lot, and race for the safety of our little home. But first, the errands must be accomplished! I sprinted to the market in a desperate quest for anise liquid, only to find the shelves mocking me with their emptiness. Apparently, my local grocer doesn’t support my licorice-flavored dreams. Thankfully, Amazon has stepped in to save my soul—delivery is scheduled for Saturday, assuming the delivery driver can handle the raw power of that much black jellybean energy.
After my market failure, we went to UPS, and I mailed four packages to the kids.
Today was a special day.
I do, I do, I do, I do!
Once inside and safe, we do a quick check for missing or broken parts before continuing on the day’s adventures.
