It occurred to me today that I will soon need to wear a bathing suit again, namely the one with the peacock feather across the front. I don't want to pop out of my peacock, so I decided to do some toning at the gym. I bore myself with this toning nonsense and tried to make a toning friend. I picked a lovely, tall, woman with dark brown hair. She was putting her round weights back on the stand; an ideal time to assault her with verbage. It seemed as though she was having some difficulty: "Hello. Its hard to get them in the hole, sometimes. THATS WHAT SHE SAID." Some people just don't understand this joke. She must have been one of those people.
I focused next on the birds. Peacocks are birds. If birds like me, the peacock will look just marvelous draping my flab. Unfortunately, a few days prior, I destroyed a small dove's nest that some peace-loving douchebag constructed inside of my expensive hanging flower pot. I desperately needed forgiveness, and figured food is the best way to a bird's heart. I placed some bird seed outside in one of those little houses that hang from things, sat down, and waited. Two squirrels climbed the trellis, knocked all the seed out of that little house, and selectively ate the sunflower seeds. Not trying to befriend the squirrels, I sent Simon outside to chase them away. He ate one of them, I think.
I visited the extensive interweb for bathing suit dilemma-fixing data. The perfect solution: the sarong. To quote Dion, "ain't nothin' sarong with dat."
