On Tuesday I began my day by filling out a form that required both my height and weight, so I pulled up my big-girl panties (different from granny panties by at least 3 yards of fabric) and noted my weight. My last run-in with a scale wasn’t long ago, so I felt like I was telling the truth; however, by late afternoon guilt started to creep into my head and eat at my heart. Guilt is never good, especially when associated with weight, so I marched upstairs and stepped onto the scale. After all, the truth will set you free…it even says that in the Bible.
The surprise of all time came when I realized that I actually overestimated my weight by two pounds. That is most likely the stupidest thing a woman could do. At any rate, I owe every ounce of my two pounds of weight loss to my new jump rope. I read on someone’s blog that 15 minutes of jumping rope burns more calories than 15 minutes of jogging. Now I can’t remember where I read that information, so if it was on your blog, do remind me in the comments. Thanks.
Don’t bother making any memory loss comments, because then I will stop liking you.
Not really. I’ll just forget it was you anyway.
Back to my two dollar and thirty-seven cent jump rope…
Jumping rope is much easier when you are ten. Remember I told you that. I can only imagine how much weight I would have lost if I had sprung for the six-dollar and eighty-three cent weighted jump rope. Then there was the twenty dollar rope…the possibilities are exciting. Now I just have to get past forty-three jumps without messing up.
Around lunchtime my mother called and asked what I was doing.
“Watching someone get arrested.” I said nonchalantly.
Although I’m hard on Mrs. Kravitz, I identify with her; however, by the time someone gets to the place of being handcuffed and a riding downtown in a police car with its bubble lights flashing, you no longer need to hide your snooping. Throw caution to the wind and gawk. While you’re at it, stand around with complete strangers and theorize as to the details of his arrest. It is nearly as much fun as watching a rerun of Matlock.
I didn’t think anything could top the arrest, it was quite drawn out, but I underestimated the power of a Tuesday afternoon. You see Tuesday is the night we put out the trash in my neighborhood. I had just returned from the post-office when I spotted the teenage boy across the street piling junk high at the curb. Sitting casually out in front was the bestest lawn chair ever.
I ran right over.
“You’re not really throwing that chair out are you?” I asked.
“You mean the ugly one.” He responded with a scrunched up look on his face.
“Of course the ugly one! You see I have this disease and it’s called bad taste. Have you seen my new shoes?”
You get the point.
I got the lawn chair.
In the words of my cousin, “How about the lawn?”