At least I'm being honest.

I didn't go to the gym yesterday.

Yep.  There it is.  I had every intention of taking some sort of class where I'm sure I'd end up looking totally spastic and out of my element directly in front of the door or windows and potentially right in front of the man with the buzz and a 4 day beard (who is also amazing with kids, has dark hair, is taller than me, won't call anything theatre related gay, lets me wear his hoodies when I'm cold, and knows how to cook because I certainly don't) who could have been my future husband had he not seen me flailing my arms awkwardly and trying to keep up with a petiteacher or one of the skinny girls in one of the classes who I just wish would eat a piece of cake or a cookie or something so I wouldn't want to punch her so much.  Instead.  I stayed home.  I had the heart of a lion and every intention of putting myself into another totally foreign, potentially painful situation so I could broaden my horizons and also give you something funny to read about, but my closer to thirty than twenty body had other ideas.  I'm not injured (unless you count my broken vagina bones and crushed spirit from the class of doom,  I mean spinning) I just needed a day to recover.  So I took one.  One day off.  And now, today, I'm back.  So look out Pilates slash Yoga mix (and potential husband) here I come.