It’s Pi’s fault. It’s all Pi’s fault.
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
The plan was to go to the gym with her last evening. It was a simple plan. I would drive home, she’d hop into the car, and we’d go to the Rec Center where she’d kick my butt from one end of the gym to the other.
Simple. Painful, but simple.
But it didn’t work out that way, because Pi fell asleep. So instead of hopping into the car, she was sprawled, with the TV still playing Say Yes to the Dress, sound asleep on the couch.
No, I didn’t turn around and go to the gym on my own. That would have been unthinkable. I walked and fed the Puppy, and then did a few things around the house.
Pi woke up. She stretched. I sat down next to her and she curled right up and went back to sleep with me as the pillow. (See, there was a good reason I didn’t go to the gym.)
Forty-five minutes she woke up.
Shapiro’s sandwiches are about the size of Montana. Each half of the sandwich is enough to feed a small country. We snarfed happily.
Then the supremely unexpected happened. Dad suggested dessert. There was a negotiation, there was discussion. And then there was a walk over to Whit’s where we mega snarfed.
Then we rolled home.
I won’t fit into any of my clothes tomorrow.
And it’s all Pi’s fault.