Ingredients for this My Time: lying, a computer, working out.
Oh Honey, you're so hilarious. You read my first post and thought, what a racist stuck-up white woman.
The truth is, I'm not married and I actually know what a virologist does, and I presume it has nothing to do with cave crickets or Muslims, although if you know otherwise, please let me know, as I'd be interested in pretending that I'm interested in your point of view. I do live in Missouri, but it's none of your concern why. It has been said that a woman's way to kill is poison, while a man's is blunt force. This is one of the many tales weaved during women's joint My Time. We enjoy a pick-axe as much as the next penis, but that doesn't mean we need to advertise our plans for your future. Instead, we take that hour of typing on the computer as a light cardio workout that cancels out the Cheetos we eat in bed with chopsticks (nay a finger will be stained orange) and our wine spritzers (red: less calories) that we casually test from our sippy cups (it's a spill-free zone, here, darling). The computer it a perfect device for women's My Time as it allows much lying. We all have that larger friend who posts pictures to their social networking sites that are extreme close-ups of their lips, eyes, and nose, as to avoid exposing the actual amount of skin that is taken up by their frame. This isn't lying as much as a form of not knowing that a big girl can get it just as much as a tiny one. For example, examine the stomach rolls on this woman as she gracefully releases a child into the arms of someone who will actually not expose the child to harm, so that she may return to the kitchen bar for more My Time:
The smile says, "oh child, look at you walk like a genius! I love you! I'm so proud of you!" But the stomach rolls and body suit says "I'm ready to sit down for the rest of my life because my life is My Time." Thus, lying can, paradoxically, become a form of light cardio. Yes, that makes complete sense.