Approximately once a week, I do a squat before I get in the shower. So yeah, you could say I work out.
Today, I like the way I look. This isn’t always the case, so I’m going to embrace the feeling while it lasts.
The plan: Reese would bring me to the train station to catch my train at 4:35, he would then head to the airport, catch a 5:30 flight, and arrive around 6:30, giving him plenty of time to pick me up at the train station in Ottawa.
Reese’s plane was delayed until 8:00, putting his arrival time 30 minutes after mine.
Reese got moved up to a flight leaving at 6:45, allowing him to arrive before me. Plan back on.
His flight sat on the tarmac for an hour, delayed because of baggage issues.
My train stopped to let a freight train go by. The freight train unkindly decided to break down right in front of my train, delaying us by 2 hours.
A weary Reese picked up a weary me at the train station, 2 hours later than anticipated, but all according to plan.
Yesterday, a man carrying a beatbox boarded the bus I was on and made his way to the back. He laid his beatbox across two seats and turned it on. Then he kicked the air a couple times, and sat down. The beatbox played a gentle beat, and nothing else. And then the guy started talking (or freestyling, I guess?). I won’t go into what he said, as most of it was either obscene or completely illogical, but I couldn’t decide whether I admired him or not. I mean, on one hand, he was rude and loud and disruptive. But on the other hand, the guy had his own soundtrack! Everywhere he went. It’s like he was the star in his own (bad) live action rap video. How cool is that??
I went out to get some sturdy boots for winter. And I happened to go to one of those strange shoe stores where the salesperson kneels by your feet and unlaces the boots for you and everything. Now, I’m not comfortable with this practice on the best of days (I think having to kneel next to someone’s feet is extremely demeaning), but this particular occasion was especially unfortunate.
The whole reason I went to buy boots in the first place was because my current boots were absolutely soaked through after the last snow fall. So for a full day and a half I stomped around in wet boots. This was rather unpleasant for me, but it also had the added side effect of making my feet smells absolutely horrendous. Wet feet (like wet dogs) just do not give off a pleasant odour. Due to a lack of any other winter gear (hence the boot shopping trip) I had no choice but to marinate my feet until they were ripe and probably strong enough to smell from a kilometre away.
Cue this poor salesgirl kneeling near my feet and offering me boots to try on. Yes, bootS. I tried on SEVERAL pairs. Every time my foot came out of a boot, the odour would escape from my socks and waft upwards to assault my nostrils. As she was sitting significantly closer to my feet, I’m quite sure the smell was strong enough to induce gagging. She was extremely pleasant but I guarantee that she was holding her breath the whole time. It’s too bad we don’t tip our shoe salespeople, because I would have been VERY generous. I can only hope that the commission she earned off my very expensive purchase was enough to compensate for the trial she endured. And I’m never going shoe shopping with wet feet again!