We're going to discuss this now?

So for the past several years, I have committed to working out on a regular basis. I hate it. It's not fun. But I do it for my health and for my girls, and frankly to combat the jiggles on my body. I try desperately to make it look fun, so my girls will enjoy working out.

They opened a gym in my building, and I've tried to add one more workout to my week. It sucks. It's like being in high school again, getting dressed in a locker room, showers, the whole shebang. Being the plump one, struggling to put a sport bra on (or off) giant hooters without throwing out my back while simultaneously trying to keep a towel tied around my hips. A teeny tiny workout towel. What is up with that anyway??

It is so much effort for what often feels like not too great results. I was afraid to measure myself in the beginning, and I'm not a weigh-er, so all of my results are subjectively judged. This usually entails me asking Dan whether he can see any difference. He usually replies all smartassy, "your heart looks great."

I've been asking him every week into my new routine, " It's working, right?" And each time, a smartassy response. Until Sunday.

Sunday was the day we planted our tulip bulbs, covered them with compost, chicken wire and mulch. Take that squirrelly bastards! I'm considering sprinkling them with cayenne pepper, too.

So I'm covered in mulch and compost, in a old, holey outfit, sweaty, shoveling "mature" compost out of the composter. Those who work with compost know that when it is ready to use, the compost smells and looks like crap. So basically I'm covered in crap and bending over, and Dan chooses that moment to be all, "Hey, I think your a$$ is looking good."

"We're going to discuss this NOW, Captain Romance? When I'm covered in manure? Can you put that compliment on hold until I can shower? Does the compost make my butt look smaller?

Ahh...the bliss of married life.