So last week, my spastic, retarded sheltie decided to maul up my best running shoes. Both heels were frayed and bent back by dog teeth and tongue. The shoelaces stems were gone, leaving nothing but frayed fibers, to flare out, from both knot ties.
When that dog is not hairballing and dandering up the whole house, she's eating up what she's not leaving hairs on.
Normally I would be furious about this, but not when there's money in my bank account. I'm a happy guy when that situation exists. With money in the bank, this was just the sneaky opportunity I needed to splurge for some more athletic equipment; so, a few days ago, I went out and bought some Mizuno "Wave Riders."
http://www.mizunousa.com/products.nsf/ProductSearch/594FCC3542D4FFA185256CC3006811FA?opendocument
This is a fine running shoe compared to my workhorse, cheap, gray Nike "trail shoes." My days affiliated with Nike and Addidas are over. In fact, I wish I could just wear my "Wave Riders" to bed or to Kroger's or to the donut shop or just simply prop them up on tables and chairs and say, "check these out, these are Mizuno Wave Riders." I can run like a frightened antelope in these things. And, I'm thinking, maybe if I get real good with this running thing, they'll put me on the "free list," like they used to put kids on for tennis rackets when I was young.
Good athletic equipment comes at a cost. I had $200 in my bank account and this purchase just drained out "my allowance." Well, the money is one thing, hiding the purchase from my wife is another, but it's a chance and risk I just have to take, just like I have done with my expensive Polar heart rate monitor, and my expensive Barracuda goggles and my $130 12 pane Cannondale bike pants. I can't help it if the manufacturers have not grabbed the issues by the balls and can't make stuff for $25 bucks.
Well, I did get busted over the $130 bike pants. You have to keep the reciept for those, and whoops, it was in my jean's pockets, and they have to be washed.
And take the goggles. I did get busted for these, too. "How much were these goggles?," she asked.
"Uh. $65 bucks. But, they are Barracuda's, and, listen now, before you go postal, they don't fog up, they don't leak, and when I do flip turns, they don't leak. The $14 dollar thingies just weren't cutting it. Again, I just can't help it that the goggle people haven't grabbed this issue by the balls and solved all of these problems for $14."
"What's a flip-turn?" she asks.
Forget it, I'll just take the pounding.
So, now, over the new shoes, not wanting to avoid a huge ordeal over "why that didn't go into the college fund," I'm having to hide the new shoes and other undisclosed gadgets in my car, under the seats, in an area I call T-0.
Now, if, say, I went to Fred's or K-Mart and bought some $14 dollar shoes, or Keds, and just suffered trenchfoot or blowouts in them, she'd probably like that, and I wouldn't have to hide them in T-0. But that's just not going to happen.
Now, all pre-exercise planning takes place in the garage, near T-0. This makes for an interesting and yet clandestine "transition area" now out in the garage. Before I take off running, I make sure my wife is back in her bedroom. And hopefully, Oprah is on, then it's a lock, I'm free. There's one good thing about Oprah, most women will sit down and watch the show for a whole hour and not move. That means a good hour of freedom right there to get ready in T-0. Good. Cue up Oprah. Oprah you are a go. Roger that. I then quickly go sock footed and scamper, like a pathetic thief, out to T-0, to my car in the garage, quietly open the hatchback, put my expensive running shoes on, heart monitor, all the other gadgets, real quick, and scoot off, for about an hour and half run up and down those bastard hills in West Little Rock.
As I'm running, I felt like a Kenyan running up and down steep hills, barely breathing. Man, these shoes feel good. I could run for hours with these things on. But wait a minute. Suddenly the peacefulness ended in paranoia. As I'm running, I noticed my wife's sister car drive by me. I'm hoping my wife's sister didn't get a good look at me, because she'll surely spot these new shiny white shoes, and give me up. For christs sake, she's stopping and wanting to talk. She'll see the heart rate monitor now. So, I try to wave her off. "Hey, running....hey....later." I look like "White Shoes Johnson" in these things. I'm going to get busted way out here, of all places. They've probably already cell phoned each other about this. God, I am so busted. This is going to end up like something in the movie, "Minority Report," where those pyschic sisters all know everything. That's what those two are like. I would not be surprised if they both could generate some of those "psychic balls" which roll down the tubes in that show. What one knows, the other immediately knows, and the next thing I know I'm Tom Cruise's character running like a madman because I bought some expensive running shoes.
Turns out, I'm thinking I made it back from run undetected. As I near the driveway, I take off the wave riders, put them back under the car seat, put up all of the other tri gadgets, and put my old dog eaten shoes back on, and walk back in.
Whooo. What a run.
"Hey, honey."
"Don't hey me. How much did you spend on those new shoes?"
When that dog is not hairballing and dandering up the whole house, she's eating up what she's not leaving hairs on.
Normally I would be furious about this, but not when there's money in my bank account. I'm a happy guy when that situation exists. With money in the bank, this was just the sneaky opportunity I needed to splurge for some more athletic equipment; so, a few days ago, I went out and bought some Mizuno "Wave Riders."
http://www.mizunousa.com/products.nsf/ProductSearch/594FCC3542D4FFA185256CC3006811FA?opendocument
This is a fine running shoe compared to my workhorse, cheap, gray Nike "trail shoes." My days affiliated with Nike and Addidas are over. In fact, I wish I could just wear my "Wave Riders" to bed or to Kroger's or to the donut shop or just simply prop them up on tables and chairs and say, "check these out, these are Mizuno Wave Riders." I can run like a frightened antelope in these things. And, I'm thinking, maybe if I get real good with this running thing, they'll put me on the "free list," like they used to put kids on for tennis rackets when I was young.
Good athletic equipment comes at a cost. I had $200 in my bank account and this purchase just drained out "my allowance." Well, the money is one thing, hiding the purchase from my wife is another, but it's a chance and risk I just have to take, just like I have done with my expensive Polar heart rate monitor, and my expensive Barracuda goggles and my $130 12 pane Cannondale bike pants. I can't help it if the manufacturers have not grabbed the issues by the balls and can't make stuff for $25 bucks.
Well, I did get busted over the $130 bike pants. You have to keep the reciept for those, and whoops, it was in my jean's pockets, and they have to be washed.
And take the goggles. I did get busted for these, too. "How much were these goggles?," she asked.
"Uh. $65 bucks. But, they are Barracuda's, and, listen now, before you go postal, they don't fog up, they don't leak, and when I do flip turns, they don't leak. The $14 dollar thingies just weren't cutting it. Again, I just can't help it that the goggle people haven't grabbed this issue by the balls and solved all of these problems for $14."
"What's a flip-turn?" she asks.
Forget it, I'll just take the pounding.
So, now, over the new shoes, not wanting to avoid a huge ordeal over "why that didn't go into the college fund," I'm having to hide the new shoes and other undisclosed gadgets in my car, under the seats, in an area I call T-0.
Now, if, say, I went to Fred's or K-Mart and bought some $14 dollar shoes, or Keds, and just suffered trenchfoot or blowouts in them, she'd probably like that, and I wouldn't have to hide them in T-0. But that's just not going to happen.
Now, all pre-exercise planning takes place in the garage, near T-0. This makes for an interesting and yet clandestine "transition area" now out in the garage. Before I take off running, I make sure my wife is back in her bedroom. And hopefully, Oprah is on, then it's a lock, I'm free. There's one good thing about Oprah, most women will sit down and watch the show for a whole hour and not move. That means a good hour of freedom right there to get ready in T-0. Good. Cue up Oprah. Oprah you are a go. Roger that. I then quickly go sock footed and scamper, like a pathetic thief, out to T-0, to my car in the garage, quietly open the hatchback, put my expensive running shoes on, heart monitor, all the other gadgets, real quick, and scoot off, for about an hour and half run up and down those bastard hills in West Little Rock.
As I'm running, I felt like a Kenyan running up and down steep hills, barely breathing. Man, these shoes feel good. I could run for hours with these things on. But wait a minute. Suddenly the peacefulness ended in paranoia. As I'm running, I noticed my wife's sister car drive by me. I'm hoping my wife's sister didn't get a good look at me, because she'll surely spot these new shiny white shoes, and give me up. For christs sake, she's stopping and wanting to talk. She'll see the heart rate monitor now. So, I try to wave her off. "Hey, running....hey....later." I look like "White Shoes Johnson" in these things. I'm going to get busted way out here, of all places. They've probably already cell phoned each other about this. God, I am so busted. This is going to end up like something in the movie, "Minority Report," where those pyschic sisters all know everything. That's what those two are like. I would not be surprised if they both could generate some of those "psychic balls" which roll down the tubes in that show. What one knows, the other immediately knows, and the next thing I know I'm Tom Cruise's character running like a madman because I bought some expensive running shoes.
Turns out, I'm thinking I made it back from run undetected. As I near the driveway, I take off the wave riders, put them back under the car seat, put up all of the other tri gadgets, and put my old dog eaten shoes back on, and walk back in.
Whooo. What a run.
"Hey, honey."
"Don't hey me. How much did you spend on those new shoes?"