Today had the requisite "free" meeting with a personal trainer given with every new gym membership, wherein he worked me out very very well, and I enjoyed everything he had to say, and then, of course, the "spend even more money!" pressure, which, if I HAD $150 down and $160 a month for personal training, I'd do it -- but I don't, and it's hard to get them to take "no" for an answer, but I did it and managed to escape.
Limbs very sore now, though. Ouchie. Good ouchie. Then I ruined it all by coming home and eating pizza. Nom.
The linen cubby, where we keep throw rugs:
I'm afraid things may be cat-heavy for a while.
This is fun! Thanks Aunt Maggie!
It occurred to me, with the sad passing of Nicholas Courtney, that what Ten REALLY needed was the Brig to give him a sour expression and say, "Good God, man, buck up. Stiff upper lip! Pull on your boots and get on with it!"