Smug Marrieds: Pumpkin [Pig] Pie

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I make a pumpkin pie every year for Thanksgiving and, every year, I end up eating most of it. This is because Blair doesn't have much of a sweet tooth. In an effort to keep the calorie count down this year, I asked about maybe not making the pie. 

"We have to have the pie!" said Blair. 

"But you only eat one tiny little piece," I said. "I'm the one who eats it. I'd rather just not make it and not be tempted."

"I will eat the majority of the pie this year," said Blair. "I swear. My pie. All mine." 

"Fine," I said, pulling out the ingredients. "Just remember you promised." 

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Smug Marrieds: The Price of Beauty

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Winter is known around our house as "The Season of the Blair." The man can put off some serious body heat. You only have to hold your hand up to within maybe 4 inches of him and you can literally feel the heat radiating off him. Since my body temperature hovers somewhere around 30 degrees even in the summer, I love it. I I follow him from room to room and it's like having my own portable heater.

Except something has changed. We've both noticed it. Often times lately we'll hold hands and I'll remark how cold his hand is or--and this is Twilight Zone weird--he'll comment on how warm my hand feels to him. 

We were eating dinner the other night and Blair asked if the heat was on because he was freezing. 

"What's up with that?" I asked. "Where did thermonuclear man go?"

"I don't know," said Blair.

"I bet I know what it is. You lost all that weight this year (he lost 25 lbs in Jan/Feb) plus you eat mainly a vegetarian diet because of me. Vegetarians are known to have lower body temps than meat eaters."

"So what you're saying is this is your fault," said Blair.

"I'm saying a cold body temp is the price you have to pay for looking hot," I said, winking. 

Blair muttered something. "What?" I asked. 

"I said I think I liked it better when I was fat and warm," said Blair. 

Cheers,

Dena

24-Hour Ultra - In Or Out? I Can't Decide...

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Some of you may recall that back in July I signed up for my first ultra. A 24-hour race on just under a 1 mile loop trail. People said I was crazy. I scoffed.

I'm not scoffing any longer. The race is next weekend and I am FREAKING OUT. So much so, that I called my sole sister Cindy (the only person who signed up to do this race with me, btw) today and told her I couldn't do it. I was out. Back in July when it was light until 10 pm and there was no biting wind at night, it seemed like a good idea. Now, it just seems stupid. I gave her my list of reasons for bailing: 

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