What can I say? I’m a masochist.
Someone at work is a Spinning instructor. She’s started a special class for us lazy lumps. Twice a week we pedal away for an hour, have a nice shower (it doesn’t matter how high the air conditioning is set, we’re completely soaked at the end of it), and then get to work. The first two lessons were sheer hell, but now I’ve started to enjoy myself.
With all this running and spinning I am now as fit as a fiddle. I need to be fit as a fiddle to handle my baby. She’s a little devil. We’re all covered in scratches most of the time, the result of ferocious battles, and usually, by the time I get to read the newspaper, it’s full of tiny little bite marks. Seeing as the newspaper in question is Yediot Aharonot, this is probably an improvement. On second thoughts, I can’t think of a newspaper that wouldn’t benefit from a little impromptu feline editing.
A belated Happy Birthday to Dad. I didn’t actually forget about it (although I pretended to, for in-joke reasons), but I did forget to post congrats on the blog. He wouldn’t have seen it anyway. He’s far too busy sailing away for a year and a day, lucky him.