one day at boot camp…

It has come to my attention that we exercise for two reasons only- so we can talk about it and so we can talk about it. We think if we say ‘I am at the gym most mornings before 6 ‘ (and who has not heard me say this*) that we look better/younger/faster/stronger to those we tell.  Saturday night’s dinner party included lots of old friends and I sat with a husband on my left (thanks for sharing) and his wife on my right. Early on, before the Margaritas took on their full effect, she mentioned briefly about having been at boot camp at sunrise that morning. Several vodka shots and glasses of red wine ( I counted over 85 glasses on that table -goblets, shooters, high balls and demi tasses-I know there was food because I recall seeing a fork but the details of the meal escape me) she demonstrated exactly what was required of her at boot camp that morning. She was wearing a short dress and boots.

The night’s focus was mainly on boot camp and how she was there, goes often, finds it tough and whether or not she had had a boob job. Things were so perky after breast feeding three babies over a decade ago that we had to keep asking if her recent  trip to Europe was code for time with Dr Plastics. Finally, when she could not handle the interrogation any more she pulled off her padded bra as proof that she was all natural and still her old flat chested self.  I love these parties- they start with fine linens, crystal, silver, fresh flowers and end with flaming sambucas and underwear on the table.

As the night wore on, she became more physically crippled from boot camp antics that morning. Soon she was walking comically as though she just got off a horse and when she was asked why she was walking funny she replied “did I not tell you about boot camp?”

* my sneaky way of telling you that I go to the gym most mornings by 6. So clever.

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