This is what I walked into my first night home:
Okay, we like to drink, too.
ANYway. . .
You might disagree, if you're judging from the looks of my waif-like sister, but lemme tell you: everyone here is fat. I mean everyone. And I'm afraid I'll end up that way, too. To combat this seeming inevitability, I went out last week and purchased a mountain bike. I rode it all that afternoon, exploring the woods and the riverbanks of my old neighborhood, loving the feel of the wind in my hair and the straining of my muscles as I pushed myself to my sweaty limits. Then. . . I parked my Trek 800 in the garage and bought myself a '92 Honda Accord. Much better for fatting -- I mean getting around in.
