I walk to and from the kids’ bus stop almost every afternoon. It’s about two-thirds of a mile total; given that I have a very weak ankle and am incredibly lazy, this is not too bad and also not too smart. But this morning I had an errand and decided I should hoof it. I walked all the way to the post office and back. Yay for Jen, right? Feel the burn.
To be accurate, I didn’t walk to the city post office, but the big blue 
mailbox by McDonalds. It’s about two miles round trip. I’m not an idiot, you know.
I had my mp3 player with me—Rent is a great soundtrack to walk to, by the way—but forgot my wallet so I couldn’t even get French fries as a reward for my ambitious, uh, hoofing. Dammit. I could have totally walked off the fries, couldn’t I have?
This whole cutting-carbs thing means I haven’t eaten French fries in a very long time. I miss French fries. They make me feel alive. Exercise, on the other hand, makes me feel like I just might die. No, it makes me want to die. No, actually, it makes me want to kill someone else and then stuff my face with carbo-tastic deliciousness. Somebody, please: eat some fries for me today and DO NOT exercise.
I need a nap before I head up to the bus stop.
Carbs were invented by the devil which explains why I love them so. I don't mind the fries being out of my diet, but I'd kill the residents of any moderately sized city for a plate of pasta. On the other hand that sounds like exercise so never mind!
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