Woe Is Me!

It could not be. It simply could not be. I refused to allow my mind to contemplate it. But try as I might, there was no longer denying the fact that my thigh muscles were sore. My legs hurt.

I froze in shock. It made no sense! None at all! How could my legs be sore halfway through a slow paced song? Could it mean...? Nah! But maybe...? Never! A few minutes later, I was forced to face the ugly, ugly truth. The years in VT had taken their toll on me, and I was actually out of wukup practice. It was a veritable slap in the face.

I was now down from an impressive 150 wls/min (waist-line shots per minute) to a sad and pathetic number that I dare not commit to type for the world to see. Much to my dismay, I found myself bopping to the music in an odd way that I am not quite sure can be classified as dancing. There were even times when *gasp* I was ignoring the beat completely and just bouncing around gleefully.

Alas! Alas! I hung my head in shame.

For my own sanity however, I have decided that that was a one time situation. Maybe my legs were sore because ... um ... I had been packing up my room and I was tired. Yes, that's what I will tell myself. As for being out of rhythm? A mere sensory illusion! The white russian I had had earlier had gotten to my head, and I was simply a tad tipsy. Nothing more.

*tells self comfortingly* There, there love. De waistline still mek outta rubber and ya is still uh original yardie. Ya din in Du Badd Crew fuh nuttin and ya just had a rough night das all sweetness. Ya could still brek off dah waist, humble a bwoy and send he home to he muddah crying.

Phew! :o) That was close.

On the brighter side of things, I have discovered a skill for motorcycle arcade games. Maybe I should become a biker chick. I already own some black, leather boots. I could see myself on pon de back uh de cycle, pooching back wid de (requisite) boy shorts and looking a sorta way bashy ...

Hmmm, sounds like a plan.