Kristina, trusy roommate, and I went to the HRC tonight. Upon our return, red-cheeked, sweat-soaked, and drooping, we were greeted by Emily, yuppie roommate, already pajama'd-out and nibbling on confetti-cake ice cream.
Emily in a near shriek, turning to Kristina but pointing at me: "Look at her! It looks like you killed her and then dragged her into a lake!" Shortly thereafter I found a soft spot on the floor to rest on.
An uncle of mine, having recently taken up running, once noted that the cost of getting in shape is "constant, low-grade pain." For my part, I'll add "looking like shit" to the equation.
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