I ask you, is this a runner's physique? Or, a middle-aged well-fed runner-in-my-dreams bod? 4 hour marathon my ass. I'll be lucky not to crack the asphalt during the Colorado Marathon. I recently meet some industry colleagues, and I was introduced as a "marathoner." Both of the colleagues were runners, and, in fact, both of my colleagues looked like distance runners. The expression on their face was priceless when they looked at me and thought about marathoning, and all I could say was, "I'm a Clydesdale," as if they couldn't tell. Onward...
The family spent Christmas in Estes Park. The girls--Lexie, Deborah, and Miranda--went a week before Christmas to enjoy time without the boys. Lexie is on the left, Deborah in the middle looking gorgeous, and Miranda on the right. They look happy, huh? After we arrived--"we" being the boys and I--there was a noticeable tension and change of expression in the house.
Before leaving for Estes Park, I stopped at Target to get a travel size shampoo. Everyday, I would get cleaned up, including shampooing my flowing locks of hair, and everyday, I would see my reflection in the mirror and wonder why my hair looked like it needed an oil change. After about 5 days, I looked at the bottle and realized that I had bought a travel size conditioner.
This is what I look like when Deborah calls my name.
The deer made several appearances at the house while we were in Estes Park. They would walk up to the back patio and look into the house. Deborah told me that the girls had walked around naked before we got to Estes, so I just assumed the deer wanted to check out the human female body while the girls lounged in their glass enclosed habitat. One morning, I got the nerve to open the back door and walk out on the patio.
One little deer came up and nibbled on my fingers. She must have thought that I looked grain-fed, so I could have some leftovers on my fingers. Either that or they thought I was Santa Claus. You know, bearded, fat, jolly, greasy hair, and all that.
Obviously, deer won't walk up and nibble human fingers unless someone has been feeding them, which is a big no-no. It was very difficult to resist throwing some corn out behind the house especially since at least one of the females looked pregnant. In Deborah's words, "Cold, pregnant, and hungry. My motherly instincts are telling me to feed them." Fortunately, we resisted temptation, which was incredibly difficult, and the deer wandered off. I ended up eating the corn.
After Christmas we returned to Denver, and on a quiet New Year's Eve night, Deborah and I watched a show on Showtime called "Gigolos." Neither of us were that impressed with the show, or the gigolos for that matter, but we keep watching episode after episode until midnight. During this, our conversation turned into a discussion of which of the two of us could make a living as a prostitute.
It put me in a bad spot cause ya don't want to tell your wife that she ain't got it goin on at 49, but on the other hand, you don't want to tell your wife that she would be a great ho. Looking at the pictures posted in this blog, it's pretty easy to conclude that Deborah would be the bread-winning prostitute between the two of us, and I would take care of her at home. I can hear it now, "I cooked a great dinner for you baby, and let me rub your feet after a long day at work. Or, would you rather I get you a nice warm douche?"
We digress into the weirdest conversations sometimes, but at least we're always laughing. Well, almost always.
Happy New Year!
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