Feel the Burn

I have a Corey story for you.

It's been awhile since the last one, and I know you've been itchin' for a little "he really said/did that?!"

Corey's been itchin' for a little face time here, too.

However, not actual face time.  He ran from me as I whipped out my phone to take a picture of him wearing one of my headbands around the house.  (not just any headband, the one with the pretty green flower attached.)

And then again 45 minutes later when he still had it on.  The boy just loves to be goofy.

...

So, last night I sat in my studio playing with some beads, trying to ignore The Waterboy (aka: the only thing on that wasn't sports or NCIS) when I get a call.  It's Corey.  He's laying down in the bedroom.

"Uh, hello?"

"Hey Beetle.  Can you bring down the weights?"

"What?"
"The weights."

"The what?"

"Weights.  The.  Weights."

"The weights???"

"Yeah, bring down the two five-pound weights."

"Um, ok..."

"I need them right now."

click.

So I clean up my craft table.  Put my beads back in baggies.  Put all the ribbon spools away.  Tuck the pliers into their case.  Pick at my cuticles a little bit.  Look for the weights.  Find the fives sitting with the threes.  Think to myself, "good choice, Corey."  Head down the stairs.  Stop to watch the end of one of the dumbest movies ever made.  Then I rush right into the bedroom and hand Corey his weights. 

His plan?  Work out.  While in bed.  You know, like what seniors do from their wheelchairs.  Because he realizes the need to stay fit in his advancing age of 38, or 37 as he claims.

So now, with two five-pound weights sitting next to the bed, I will be falling asleep as my darling husband "pumps iron" to nightly news with Diane Sawyer and "gets ripped" to ESPN recaps. 

But at least I won't have to worry about the weights bursting open and making a mess in the same way I was when he was "lifting" soup cans.