Finally. Some guy from the gym named Nixon called me. Who names their son Nixon? Really. Who names their son Nixon? Anyway — made an appointment. Put it on iCal. And Chris blew it off. Not a problem unless you’re a one-car family. Which we are. So I hoofed it over there 20 minutes late, while Chris high-tailed it from the office. The guy gave us shit for being late. I gave him the URL for my blog.
We joined. We’re still fat. But now our 24/7 access to the pantry, the lazy susan (there’s a reason they call it that) and the refrigerator rivals our 24/7 access to a gym. And we have a fab fob to prove it. Any time.