by Will Bailey
Help me. I’ve fallen, and I can’t get up. That’s because Wife won’t let me get up until I finish another set of leg lifts and hip raises. To be clear, Wife isn’t forcing me to exercise or anything. That would be far too hilarious. No, I have asked Wife to coach me through a beginner’s introduction to pilates. Why? Because Wife has abs of steel, and I have abs of oobleck, which is a non-Newtonian fluid that, at first glance, appears solid, but when touched turns to liquid goop and makes a mess of your kitchen. I’m not suggesting that my abs have the to ability to make your kitchen dirty, but they do have the ability to provide a protective barrier for all the donuts that visit my stomach on a weekly basis. So maybe there’s a correlation in there somewhere? It doesn’t matter. What matters is that Wife is barking “Up-Two-Three-Four” while I writhe and grunt and snort my way into a semi-crunch, hold it for an extended period of about three seconds and then come back down to earth like a malfunctioning satellite. And to add insult to injury, Cat is just sitting in his basket on top of the media center shelving watching me struggle like an evil Prison Warden watching a new inmate get “broken in.” I’d like to see Cat try to touch his paws to the ceiling while keep his core tight. On second thought, no I wouldn’t. That would be too weird.