It’s me. The end.

I am pleased to say that I have gone to the gym four times since last week.  FOUR TIMES.  That’s like, ohhhhh, about four times as much as I have ever gone before.  It truly is amazing.

However, on the bad side … I am a horrible sweater.  For reals, ya’ll.  It is the most unattractive thing you’ve ever seen.  I was on the treadmill for about 3 minutes and the moistness had already set in.  Brad, on the other hand, cranked it up to full speed, had a leisurely run for a bit, then afterwards … it was as if nothing had went on at all.  I don’t know how he does it, stay all fresh and pretty like that, but what I do know is this:

I need to master that Ninja Sweating Technique.  And fast.

You know something’s up when your own daughter hands you a towel out of the clear blue and for no apparent reason.  Cuz seriously, that girl doesn’t ever do anything without having been told five times.  So this must’ve been a dire situation, for sure.  I say, what’s the towel for?  And she say, take care of that business like yesterday.

Pfft.

I’m trying to be a good exerciser, I really am.  Ya’ll know how much I’ve hated physical activity.  So the mere fact that I am in the gym, like just physically present, is a miracle in itself.  And then for me to actually attempt a jog on the treadmill is about the time when hell freezes over.  And also about the time I pee my pants a little and so I cut that biz like pronto.  No sense in torturing those around me as well.

On Monday night, we are walking out of the gym, and I’m kind of feeling good about myself and the fact that I lifted weights and didn’t break a groin or something, when Brad turns to me and gets this contemplative look on his face.  I about thought he was going to propose like right there on the jogging track, but out comes this instead:

“You sweat a lot, don’t you?”

I could have punched him in the neck.  Especially cuz that’s no where close to being a diamond ring.  He should really preclude statements like that with a look that matches, like a stink eye at the minimum.  Prepare me a little bit, ya know?  Otherwise, we be getting engaged before he knows he even wanted to.  Cuz sometimes my brain takes a vacay into Fantasyland, and I don’t hear what you say after you give me the googly eyes.  In fact, just try telling me you didn’t propose and see what happens.

Brad – Proposal = Inadvertent Vasectomy.

Oopsie.

Going to the gym by myself tonight.  Where I can sweat grossly in private.  And then when I get home, I’m going to give Brad the giantest hug ever.  And then prolly stick my forehead on him.  Like on his cheek, close to his mouth, where he likes it best.

Yeahhhhh.  So you wanna talk about that ring now?