Friday, December 27, 2002
The realization that should the daughter spawn, I will probably be The Worst Grandmother Ever.
And, of course, The Big Question: Pig Snicket--evil genius or homicidal maniac?
Christmas day was a blur of too much food, and forcing people related to me by blood and marriage to put on antlers. Incredibly annoying? Me? Why ... why ... why that's crazy talk.
My two toddler grandnieces attended this Christmas, their first joint appearance. They were wonderfully well-behaved until around 5 p.m. when they finally caved in to a massive sugar overdose and more excitement than two small bodies should ever have to endure.
Did I find myself rushing over and trying to comfort them? Uh, no.
I found myself speculating as to whether or not using duct tape to muffle their sobs might upset their mother.
Worst. Potential. Grandmother. Ever.
Another workout CD came in Tuesday, this one from the aforementioned P. Snicket, and it was duly auditioned at the gym this morning. I must say that my three loyal readers continue to amaze me.
This CD began with the Anvil Chorus from Verdi's Il Trovatore. Oh, and don't think I wasn't laughing when I heard that one. So what follows the Anvil Chorus? Why, Moby's "We Are All Made of Stars".
AND IT FREAKING WORKS.
So there I was on the elliptical machine, striding away, working up a semi-decent sweat when the true evil of The Snicket was laid bare.
She put "If you can, Can-Can" from the Moulin Rouge soundtrack on the CD. I will just give you a second for the full horror of that to register.
See, the deal is that I respond instinctively to whatever music I might be listening to and match the speed of my stride to the beat of the music.
"If You Can, Can-Can" runs approximately 60 beats a minute. I know this because when I looked down at the machine I realized that was what I was running.
At speeds like that we are straying into the area on the machine which says, "Middle-Aged Woman Sprints After Harrison Ford's Limo Only To Collapse In A Sobbing Sweat-Soaked Heap And Die."
Well, maybe not EXACTLY those words, but you know what I mean.
I had been doing that insane speed for well over a minute before I noticed that I was REALLY sweating and breathing far harder than normal. Aye carumba. As a result of that, I posted my hardest 30 minute workout to date.
Was this a stroke of evil genius on the part of P. Snicket, pushing me harder than I normally like to go? Or, is she a homicidal maniac, toying with a middle-aged woman too stupid to actually check the stats on the elliptical machine and adjust her speed accordingly?
The jury is out.
The daughter and her sweetie are packing even as I speak and will disappear back to Montreal tomorrow morning.
The house will be much, much too silent when she goes.
Time to go and bask in the noise while it's still happening.
Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -
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