Those groans were either primal or carnal

I had a wonderful birthday. Bill and I now own gym/pool memberships to the new recreation center in our neighborhood. Soon, I'll be floating that lazy river after hoofing it around the indoor track a few times. I might get brave enough to try one or two of the machines and contraptions. I'll let you know.

Started off my birthday yesterday with a waffle topped with strawberries and whipped cream and a ham/cheese/spinach omelet. I am dieting the rest of the week.

I received lovely gifts from my family and over 100 happy birthday wishes on Facebook. As the wishes added up,  FB sent me a graphic of a cake with candles glowing and a note, "You have received 96 birthday greetings, happy birthday from Facebook."

Today has been low key. Scrubbed the kitchen floor on hands and knees, cleaned house, made tacos for dinner, a meatloaf for tomorrow, and I read a book. I did not do any writing because when I sat down at the computer to get started, I heard the TV in the living room blaring, as usual. There was grunting, groaning, more grunting. My first thought was someone was getting beat up. His first choice of movie viewing is someone killing, maiming or torturing someone. Arnold Schwarzenegger, Bruce Willis, and John Wayne trip his trigger.

The primal/carnal groaning continued. I figured it was either love/hate: two people engaged in lovemaking or two people duking it out. I wasn't going to listen to those groans another minute. I stormed into the living room to give my honey a piece of my mind, ask him how he expected me to write. Then I saw what was going on. He was watching a Wimbledon tennis match.

Guilt-ridden, I looked at Venus and felt terrible that I hadn't broken a sweat all day, had eaten a waffle with whipped cream and strawberries, and I had been all set to nag my hard of hearing honey for watching trash.

Now if you'd like to read about my experience years ago when we were considering joining another gym, read on.

Gym Dandy by Linda O’Connell

I joined a gym this morning. I rode the stationary bike
until ‘Barbie’ sat down beside me and gave me a look I didn’t like.
I moved over to the treadmill and kept a steady pace.
After just one mile, I was sweaty and red in the face.

My bosom was bouncing wildly, my belly keeping time.
I hit the speed up button and nearly landed on my behind.
I hurried to the ladies room, feeling like a fool.
I spied a class of women exercising in the pool.

“Aha!”  I said, delighted, and opened up my locker.
I slipped into my swimsuit; yikes! That was a shocker.
I couldn’t believe that bimbo reflecting in my mirror.
My tiny little swim skirt didn’t cover half my rear.

I made my way to the edge of the pool, got brave and dropped my towel.
I swear I heard that teenaged life guard let out a little yowl.
The aquatics instructor smiled, “Come in; the water’s fine.”
I heard two whispering women comparing theirs, to my behind.

“Okay ladies,” the instructor said, “pull your partner up and down the lane.”
I headed to the lazy river. Water aerobics looked insane.
A woman came around the bend, shouted, “Watch out for my noodle.”
I’d had my fill of exercise. I drove home and ate my apple strudel.