Thank you Busey Bank for helping me along with my New Year's resolution of getting up earlier. At 7:30 this morning, I got a text message from T-Mobile saying that my monthly payment didn't go through. This event coincided with my sister's dog Sashimi jumping up on my bed and planting her foot right on my sore hip, then grinding it in. Good morning!
Since I was up, I decided to go again to deep-water aerobics. This time, I did it without the running belt, since I have a weird ability to not sink. It may be one of my greatest talents, alongside making tootsie-roll chest hair for naked man cakes and coming up with elaborate similes to describe my gimpiness (like an elephant getting tasered! Like a dance party at a polio-survivor's convention!) I am like a human pool noodle in both floatiness and gracefulness. Turns out that, yeah, deep-water aerobics is a lot harder when you do it au naturale. It was a good workout. The nice thing about deep-water aerobics, too, is that most of your body is under water, so no one gets to see your flailing about.
Alas, there was no more talk of crafting or maybe I was just concentrating too hard on staying upright. After the class, I chatted with some of the younger ladies. One of them remarked that I talk like an American. I noted that when I'm in America, people say I talk like a Canadian. ("What is pa-sta? I only eat paw-sta"). "No," she said, "You definitely sound like an American." This is the ultimate hallmark of placelessness. I'm too American-sounding for the Canadians and too Canadian-sounding for the Americans. It's like I'm from my own special country: The Great Nation of ArleyLand! Population: 1.