Whereas I can’t say I’m a bundle of pain, my muscles are stiffer than is comfy. I had my second workout yesterday, and already my husband showers me with compliments. I can’t possibly look that much better yet. He’s hoping to encourage me, because otherwise he’s going to have a wife that’s indistinguishable from a marshmallow.
Reservoir Dogs just came on, with the usual warning of “There are scenes of graphic violence in this movie.” Oh, really?! Quentin Tarantino explains virginity to his friends.
Fortunately, I went to shul this morning like a good Jewish woman does. ‘Cept I’m not Jewish yet. Maybe my good deeds will put up a shield between me and the movie. Between me and the television itself.
Between me and my opinions of the stupid woman who ran the stop sign yesterday, flinging her minivan in front of my son’s car. Fortunately, Peter got out of it with a scrape on his arm, and nothing else. He wasn’t at fault at all, and the cop gave her a citation. The car was a bit too banged up to drive — airbags deployed, which is how he got the scrape on his arm. He was the last boy in his class who hadn’t hit anything with his car. Glad glad glad he didn’t hit it too hard!
white pebble 