gluttony for punishment
I ate too much. But that’s what you’re supposed to do, right?
We had an all-friend Thanksgiving again this year. About 10 of us. It was fun. And delicious. Before I realized what time it was and dashed in here to get a post done, I asked Isabelle, “So is that what Thanksgivings are going to be like for the rest of our lives?” I wasn’t annoyed or exasperated or disappointed, either. Because we could do a lot worse.
We had enough food to feed everyone. I mean, like, everyone in the world.
Pictures tomorrow! Maybe. I haven’t looked to see how any came out.
Something that puzzled me about the gym this morning: We went at about 8 a.m., and every half hour or so the lady came on the P.A. system to announce “Just a reminder: We will be closing at 4 p.m. this afternoon.” As if there were people there at 8 a.m. that were planning to also (or still?) be there sometime after 4 p.m. Then I thought, wait — maybe that isn’t so weird. Maybe I just don’t put enough effort into this fitness thing. I can barely make it twice a week — twice a day? Or once a day for eight hours? Or maybe I’m reading too much into the P.A. policies of my gym.
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