“I am going to be healthy!” you declare loudly. You drink lots of water (not bottled, of course!), eat lots of fruit and vegetables (organic, of course! You grew the carrots yourself!), you sneak in a sip of [soft drink=select=Coke] (I saw that! Damn it, that negates everything!) and a cigarette (are you serious?!) and squeeze into your jogging shorts.
“Hello, old enemy,” you say to the shorts, fingering the hem with an unfathomable expression. So much history. So much to learn about you.
“I hate exercise,” you explain. “It’s tiresome.”
Ahh. I understand. Sitting is much more comfortable.
“Don’t forget lying down,” you add wistfully.
That will be your reward later.
You lace up your running shoes, put on your game face (it is a contorted, concentrated expression you have when playing video games, or going to the bathroom), and throw the door wide open.
“Oh,” you say. “It’s raining.”
Chuckling, you strip off your shorts, grab some cake, and sit back down in front of the television.
“There’s a treadmill just over ther–” I start, but you cut me off, waving cake in front of my face.
“It’s raining,” you say definitively. “And Frasier reruns are on.”
I can’t argue with that. I join you in lethargy.
“Comfy, eh?” you say. You toss your headband to the floor in victory.