Vanity Plates

No, I don’t have them. But Crazy Aunt Purl has a great blog post on them, and Dad had them on their cars for awhile. He was a retired Army officer, and he always wanted HUP234. He settled for UPNATM and GOGETM.

If you read her post, be sure to read the comments. Somebody went to the trouble of deciphering #6.

@ Secondborn: I don’t think there is any way you would know the new Silver Fox; if you think of Dallas as a clock, he lives somewhere between 2:00 and 3:00.

He is fine with the bookstore. We are trying to find a time that works for both of us.

Dates with two men in the same year? The mind boggles.

I have had my workout this morning (15 minutes on the treadmill at 3% grade and 2.4mph; 25 minutes on the recumbent bike at level 3; once through the circuit on the machines, which still mess with my sense of balance as I rock backward, but I’m getting over it; and a quarter-mile of trotting in the pool, because I’ve made up my mind that I am going to the dance in Denton tonight). Thence to the laundromat, where Mount Washmore has been subdued yet again, except for one sock that eluded my grasp and is back in the ick pile.

And now? Time to medicate my foot, fix my hair, grab the dolls, and go fetch Fourthborn for a day of dolly madness.

I was telling Middlest on the phone the other night, that there was a guy walking past the pool that morning, shoulders out to here, no waist, incredible back definition [visible to even these myopic eyes], and I thought, “Wow, he’s built like the Iplehouse superhero sculpt. Specifically, Kamau.” I will spare you the link to the superhero sculpt per se, because [shall we say] it is designed more authentically than poor Ken, and I still haven’t gotten used to the nonchalance of the photography on some of the doll sites. Think Taye Diggs in “How Stella Got Her Groove Back,” and you will not be far wrong.

That, however, is not why I go to the gym six mornings out of seven. I am loving the increased range of motion and the new spring in my step.

Dolls. Step away from the keyboard, Ms. Ravelled, and get those girls into the car...