Don’t we look like throw backs from the Beatle-mania days? Just a couple of “birds” on Boris Bikes.
At the end of one of the Pilates tapes I do sporadically, the plucky instructor Mari Winsor says, “Be consistent!” Every time I hear her say those words I wish she were a REAL person, so I could retort snippily, “No one has ever accused me of being consistent, Mari. And that’s kind of the point isn’t it? It’s like telling an addict to JUST SAY NO.”
Boy, would I tell her. Sometimes it’s obvious what needs to be done, Mari. I just don’t want to do it.
One would think that someone who had been in her cups for ten years would be a bona fide horror show – a gravelly voiced, stick-in-the-mud, sitting on a stained couch all day, watching bad TV – her hideous dog sneaking food off her plate (okay, maybe that’s happened once or twice). The truth is I am rather FIT. In the photo above, I road Boris’s fucking bikes, like 50 miles around London, and then went pub-crawling with Val until all hours, SOBER. Who among you could do that?
My best friend Kim (the most consistent person I know) says I’m like a cockroach. She says that she can picture me after Armageddon, crawling out from under a rock, brushing the plaster dust off my shoulders and going forward – the last woman on earth…
This is Kim and me on a twelve mile hike with mountains, in Puerto Rico. I’m not going to even mention that we look like ugly boys or that this was the time we stalked John Malkovich who was renting a super-hideous mansion in her neighborhood… Because this is a blog post about consistency.
All I’m going to say is – thank God for good genetics and good friends who ARE consistent.
All I’m going to say is – thank God for good genetics and good friends who ARE consistent.
