I weakly uttered an okay because I promised myself a long time ago that I would- rightly or wrongly- ALWAYS SAY YES TO LIFE, so we arranged a time and then I went to have a bit of a preemptive lie down.
When the time came for us to leave the house though, it seemed like the Gods were smiling on me. I couldn't find my house key.
And I mean I really couldn't find it. It wasn't nestled in my sock drawer between my ex-boyfriend's socks and my new Victoria's Secret knickers (Victoria's Secret gets America ten bonus points by the way. VERY NICE. But then they don't sell Quorn, so they started at minus ten anyway.) (I mean that America doesn't sell Quorn. Not Victoria's Secret. That would be weird. Could you just imagine it- Meredith Kerr and Heidi Klum swooshing sexily down the runway, and the pausing to hold up an orange bag of frozen meat substitute and then breathily saying, "Mmmmm, myroprotein! Edible Fungus: Because You're Worth It".) (I know that isn't the catchphrase for VS but WHATEVER). It really was lost. I knew I had it to get into the house, so it was SOMEWHERE. But not anywhere I could sodding well see. Which made it sort of feel like divine intervention.
"Dude, I guess you'll just have to go ahead without me" I said, sadly.
And then there was a knock on the door.
"Lock change!" came a voice.
I kid you freakin' not, this guy stood at the door had been called for a totally unrelated reason to me and my pathetic life to change the locks on my campus apartment AND HE WAS GIVING ME A NEW KEY. Just like that. Right there. The cosmos saw my lame-jane manoeuvre and called me on it. I mean, if it weren't for the fact that the universe was so damned impressive I'd have been seriously pissed off. As it stood, I simply resigned myself to my fate. Can't fight the universe.
"To the gym we go, then," I said, as the locksmith handed me my new key that rendered the lost one useless anyway. I tried not to spit on him a little as we left.
And boy- did we go. I'm so unfit that the warm up was more like a blow up and the stretches were more like sodding gymnastics for me. By the time we got into some capoeira WAIT! I'M SORRY- DID YOU NOT SEE ME KICKING ASS WITH SOME BRAZILIAN MARTIAL ART YESTERDAY? Because yup THAT WAS ME I was so exhausted that my face had sweated off down to my tee shirt and I was PURPLE. But dammit- the cosmos had aligned to get me this far. I persevered.
To be entirely honest, I did about six cocorinha (that's squats, to you and quite frankly, to me too) and then saw black spots so had to lie down. I'm good horizontal. Throw in a couple of fancily-named kicks and my friend knew a lost cause when he saw one. "You did a great job!" he said. "Liar," I replied, when I had caught my breath back thirty minutes and two glasses of orange juice later
I think tomorrow should be my turn to chose an activity. I'm thinking that first thing is first: my friend has to buy me a new abdominal muscle. The one I've got now appears to be broken.