And then I died and was dead.
Actually, I felt fine after the class. I even wondered if I'd really pushed myself enough. Should I have worked with heavier weights? Did I not position myself correctly?
Then Sunday came along, and I was all, Ohhhhh. I seeeee. It’s like I went to the Y, got in a horrible car accident, and while I was in a coma, a mad chef crept into the intensive care unit, pureed all of my internal organs, and shouted, “SOUP OF THE DAY!”.
In other words, GREAT CLASS. I would be singing its praises even louder if it weren't for the fact that it coincided with me catching a horrendous head cold.
Hacking cough + “Just Weights” = I need to put my children up for adoption and move with Larry to a spa in New Mexico SQUARED.
Every time I cough, I'm pretty sure an angel loses its wings. And I fracture three ribs.
Yesterday morning, I woke up and was all Mary on Little House on the Prairie I CAN’T SEE!!! I CAN’T SEE!!!
I had to pry my eyelids open with TWO HANDS, as if they’d been welded shut with boogers and a blow torch. After a concerted effort to clear away all of the debris and ice down my face, I arrived at work looking super professional.
Judging by people’s reactions you’d think there was nothing remotely common about the common cold.
“OH MY GOD WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR EYES?”
“OH MY GOD ARE YOU SICK?”
“OH MY GOD, DO YOU HAVE A COLD????”
I do! CRAZY isn’t? Like when does THAT ever happen?
There are three things I hate discussing with coworkers:
And my lunch.
Thank you, yes, I like the color brown.
And NO, I DON’T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT THE CHEMICALS IN MY PROGRESSO SOUP CAN.
(I actually do give a shit about the chemicals in my soup can, and I am trying to cut back on my consumption of canned goods, but it still irks me when people comment on my lunch as if I am not aware that every product in every aisle of my local grocery store is conspiring to kill me. I KNOW.)