There’s a new guy in our kickboxing class. And by new, I mean “new to the class” and also “new to any and all movement even slightly resembling kickboxing…or coordinated movement.”  It was so absurd last week that more than one person in the class nearly lost their cool, that the teacher couldn’t even look at him, and that I kept doing funny little hops to get away from him before he socked me in the ear. 

Confession: I had a few M&Ms today. Not a full bag, but a few, sneakily purloined from my classmate’s vending machine raid. Mmm. I would kill a man for chocolate right now. Not a child, and not another woman (she’d understand, unlike the man), but yep, I’d shank some random guy for some dark chocolate. But only if he looked really, really mean. I’m not a total bitch.  (And yes, I’m joking. Kinda.)

I’m in a weird mood, can you tell?  I think it’s the sense of impending doom. My brother’s wedding is coming up, and my arms look like I had some crazy limb-switch with a 75-year-old grandmother.  My apologies to the grandmas, but I don’t generally WANT to have fat swinging around when I move my arms!  I am going to go pump a little iron (ooh, sounds butch!) before kickboxing now. Just in case the gym fairies send a miracle and a little tricep definition my way…

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