Last week or so Mrs J’s sister asked her to watch a movie for her. Mrs J agreed and also threw in a couple of hours of sleep for poor busy sis. She promised to call back to let her know if she enjoyed the movie.

Hey sis, I’m afraid it was kind of a crap movie. Sorry, you didn’t really enjoy it. The nap was good though! 

While this conversation really happened, it’s obviously a running gag. Parents of small children, like Mrs J’s sister, notoriously have no time for themselves.

On the other hand they have small children. And if at times they will claim that their corner of suburbia is actually the next level of Dante’s inferno, they will agree that their children are actually the best parts of their lives.

Before we get to the obscure point, brace yourselves for another obscure example.

Mrs J fights every week to maintain and improve her fitness level. She’s no pro. Most days she wishes she could ask someone to run those 5, 6, 8 or whatever k’s are on the plan for her. Or, even better, that she could just push that button on her machine that says “fitness” and she would instantly be more fit.

Also annoyingly, a coach doesn’t magically appear when pressing the coach button. This thing is clearly broken.

But then she would miss out on that glorious feeling of achievement when breaking a personal best. Breaking a personal best is actually BETTER when it has taken you hours and hours of work, litres of sweat and maybe a few tears to get there. Not to mention an appalling volume of foul language.

Cutting a long story, err, medium?: Mrs J wants to keep hating her own workouts.

Some things you just need to do yourself. Like sweating. It’s worth it.

Although if anyone else needs a nap taken for them, just buzz the comment section!

P.S. Dear Sis, I wrote this post for you, I hope you have time to read it (and that you like it if you do). Have a great birthday on the 14th! Hugs BigS