OK, Four Shades of Gray. If you count the car. Which I hear is recently paid off. And is named Eleanor. Presumably after the Roosevelt Eleanor. Who also ended up gray. Which takes us all the way up to Five Shades of Gray. Almost there!
Rob and I just ran three miles in our matching shirts. Scott, presumably mortified that we were all tripleting, entered a loop of scampering ahead of us, circling back to us and then scampering ahead again. I think he ended up running 497 miles. He was a rabbit. Which made me Mitch McConnell. Except I rooted for the team that actually won the Civil War. (That was a tortoise-and-hare allusion, in case it was as abstract for you as it was challenging for me to write with any helpful context. Scott was the hare. I was Mitch McConnell’s stupid tortoise face. The rest of Mitch McConnell is a racist, zealously dogmatic, chancre-scarred tortoise butt. But I digress.)
Anyway, it was nice out so we ran because it’ll get hot out again soon and we—or at least I—won’t want to run. So for at least today I’m facing the world feeling athletey and lithe. Even though I run like a turtle butt.
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