In Order To Actually Be In The Olympics, You Probably Have To Go To The Gym

People, I have pictures to show you, because we have done some stuff around here lately.

Some stuff that even exceeds the usual WE FOLDED THE LOAD OF WHITES and WE FINALLY SCRUBBED THOSE PINK STREAKS OF MILDEW OUT OF OUR SHOWER and WE SAT ON THE DECK AND WATCHED THE BOY MOW OUR YARD.  I was honestly going to throw some pictures onto the blog tonight and play catch up, but then I left the house this morning at 10:00, and I came back home at 5:00.

And?  Wouldn’t you know it?

The family wanted dinner.

So I had Hubs grill some chicken, because there’s nothing Hubs enjoys more after a full day at the office battling delinquent computers than having to come home and make dinner.  Besides, if I had grilled the chicken tonight, we would have had little piles of ash alongside the broccoli and potatoes, because I don’t even know how to turn the Traeger on.

(Shh!  Don’t tell me!  Otherwise I might be expected to learn the art of steak-making.)

And now the Olympics are calling to me, because I can pretty much sum up what is going to happen tonight at the Jedi Manor in a few simple words.

Yoga pants.  Sofa.  American athletes.

Which, of course, makes me wish that I wasn’t so much of a sofa-sitter, and that I had decided to spend some quality time in the gym or even on the softball field, so that I could be in London right now, kicking some other country in the caboose with my amazing hit to right field, while Hubs waved a giant foam finger declaring that I’m number one in his heart from the stands.

But, for now, I’ll just have another cupcake and think about hiring a trainer so that I’m ready to go in the summer of ’16.

And by then, I’ll be able to sign myself up for the local senior Olympics.

Y’all have a good Monday night.

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