“Unsubscribe” has been the watchword of late around here. I don’t remember signing up for those Groupon, Amazon, and ShopRunner e-mails, but if I did, it was to receive deals on merchandise I probably didn’t need.
That hasn’t been the case and I haven’t once been tempted to pull out the old credit card. Mostly, they’ve been for discounted services: winery tours… massages … footbaths… pole dancing lessons….
When Amazon sent out a deal on a fat-blasting boot camp, I was intrigued by the words “fat-blasting,” but then stopped cold by the accompanying photo:
Seriously, do you see fat blast-worthy in that line of Bony Moronies? Where are the chin rolls…? The turkey necks…? Shouldn’t there be some bellies hanging low in there? I think my big toes are bigger than a couple of those wrists and I don’t consider my toes to have a weight problem.
Not that I can’t picture myself being an asset to the class. They could use my upper arms as starting flags. After that, the vision gets murky.
That lineup and starting position wouldn’t work for me. Even if somebody goosed me from behind, I’d be stuck unless somebody pulled from the front. I’m pretty sure my feet would have gone to sleep by then, so I still wouldn’t be able to move.
I can’t blame the foot napping on my age. Once I attended a women’s meeting where we sat in a circle of chairs. Until everyone stood for the benediction, I had no idea that my left foot had gone night-night on me. I domino-ed seven women before someone solid enough to stay upright stopped the chain reaction.
When our energetic granddog Ivy came to visit a couple of weeks ago, as usual, Dearly Beloved took her for long, brisk walks of several miles. He’d come back talking about how invigorating it was. Since thigh-exposure weather is almost here, I decided to walk Ivy myself. After all, Ivy’s energy is boundless enough for all of us.
The first day’s walk brought on shin splints. It’s hard to believe that such a skinny-necked dog could pull that hard.
The next trek injured the Achilles tendon on my right foot. I’m still limping.
I’m thinking that my exercise walks should include props like shopping carts, preferably in a store and not wandering around sidewalks, of course. Boot camp is not for me, even if the supplied footwear is leather and zippered.
I’ve got a girl named Bony Moronie. She’s as skinny as a stick of macaroni. – Larry Williams