Conversation During Today's Punishment Workout

I had a fun weekend. Lots of time with friends. A couple of celebrations. And an early morning drive to Dubuque today with my mom to get her a couple of hours at the Diamond Jo Casino. 

Which meant I skipped my normal workout this morning. You see, I have this radio call-in thing for work every Sunday morning. It's at 7:30 a.m. and my choice is to work out before it or after it. Since last night's celebration was a wedding reception, getting up super early this morning wasn't that appealing. Especially since I woke up extra early yesterday to ride my bike into 6:30 a.m. RIPPED. Two weekend mornings at 5 a.m. is just not fun. 

So that means I had to do something this afternoon to make up for the skipped workout. I call it The Punishment Workout. It's got to be something awful enough to prevent me from wanting to skip again anytime soon. So I picked one of the things I hate most: Weeding.

Why do I hate weeding? Mostly because it's pointless. They just grow back. And it's hot. And sweaty. And dirty. And you have to bend over. I really hate bending over. 

This is how it went down:  

"I hate weeding," I said. "Though it's better when we do it together. It goes faster."

"Yeah," Jim says. "These clover-things suck. They're hard to pull because you can't find the source." 

We pull. And pull. And pull. There's no dilly dallying because neither one of us wants to look like the wuss. Thankfully the sun isn't blazing down and the ground is soft. But it's still a pain in the ass ... or more specifically, in the back. 

With the front done and half of the back flower beds complete, this happens:

"This is precisely why we should have had kids of our own, you know," I say. 

"Yeah, then we could tell them to get out here and take care of this shit," he laughs. "'Get out there and weed those flower beds you little bastards. If you want supper, you'd better get out there an bust a sweat,'" 

I'm giggling, knowing he'd probably not call our kids little bastards. To their face. Or maybe I'm giggling because he would. The thing is our kids would probably laugh at him doing so. 

"It's not too late. We can adopt," he suggests. 

At this point, I'll do just about anything to get out of this task. "We don't have to tell the adoption agency WHY we want to get a couple of them, right?" I ask. 

"Nope," he says. 

I'm still considering it.