When you wake up in the morning after a night filled with nightmares about knives and running and hieroglyphics, is it normal to want a corndog pizza? No? K cool.
Last night, ‘I’ said I would run some miles today. I clearly lied. I didn’t have the energy this morning to pull my running slacks on over my sexy soul sucking quads. Instead, I probably made a breakfast with an assortment of the usual shit, definitely texted with Beachy (she’s like, so awesome), likely pulled some other slacks on over my muscular set of calves, certainly decided that Smitty probably is a good kisser even with the beard, and reluctantly headed out the door to work.
Your take away from this post should be that my legs are gorgeous. Der.