Perhaps a break is required

The other day, I was just bowled over by a nail polish I espied at the store. Rich, luxurious, yet modern all at the same time. I rushed home and put it on (albeit while watching yet another Dirty Jobs* on TLC, a bad habit I have never been quite able to overcome. No one can put nail polish on prettily in the half-flickering light of the TV, and yet that is where I do my polishing). I was very proud of how nice it looked.

So imagine my surprise yesterday when I looked down during yet another fruitless workout** and realized that my sophistimacated nail polish was THE EXACT SAME COLOR as the carpet at the gym. I mean, dead-on, one could be the identical twin of the other. And my gym, as I believe I've mentioned here before, is stuck in the 80s. Hence, what does that say about my nail polish choice? Obviously that I've developed a Stockholm Syndrome regarding my gym and have begun to see it as something to emulate, rather than the bully it truly is.

* We have gotten on a "Dirty Jobs" kick lately - the host, Mike Rowe, is charmingly goofy - and I urge you, if you ever are flicking around channels and happen to come across the one where they go to a South African monkey santuary, holy christ, do not change that channel. Normally they do three jobs per one hour episode, but for this one, it was such a clusterfuck, they spent the whole hour on it. TV gold, I tell you. Any show that has an entire TV crew terrorized by a monkey named Paddy is awesome. Not that they were in the wrong - the little brat took a fist-sized chunk out of the sound guy's calf - but it was still highly entertaining.

** I don't like to talk about the gym because I spend an obscene amount of time there and yet the results, they are miniscule. Sure, you can talk about building muscle strength etc etc but where is the lean? The mean? The svelte? I can only tell myself that muscle weighs more than fat for so long. Sigh.