When I grow up, I want to be tough.
Not like a motorcycle
riding mama or anything, but a strong, athletic chick who can scoop up
my kids and save them from a fire or scary pervo if need be – and hell,
avoiding diabetes and heart disease would kind of rock.
Back
when I was a young, single slip of a girl, I was a pretty avid
exerciser. I ran five days a week and did races and was really pretty
buff, at least for someone who is a big fan of carbs and beer and
chocolate and whose genes give her the build of her Polish washerwoman
ancestors.
Then I got married...
Read More...