With little dignity left, I’m now going to tell you about my undergarments.  For those of you who roll with me in person, you know I’m a fairly conservative dresser (not conservative like high collar, conservative like un-trendy).  Sure, I might go hog wild and wear stripes, but I usually stick to a block palette.  However, I like to wear bright and whimsical socks and underwear.  It’s my thing.  I never gave it much thought until my trainer decided a good distraction technique would be to mock me.  To his credit, it worked like a charm.  His move was to grab onto my socks and ribbit at me and call me Kermit.  I didn’t get it at first.  Then I realized that maybe wearing bright green socks at my advanced age was weird.  I also determined that I am a pedophile’s dream: the fluorescent and patterned underthings of an 11 year old but the body of a de-criminalized adult.  Why am I sharing this with you?  Why not.

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