pyjamapants

For the first time in a few weeks, I went to swim practice tonight. It was a bit disappointing in that the coach spent most of the time with the juniors. The rest of the masters team was given a workout, while I was given the instruction simply to swim the entire time and something about pretending that I was holding a letter 'T' to my chest with my chin or some such nonsense. The goal was to get me to put my head face down as I swam rather than slightly looking up. Halfway through practice, I figured out that I should just try to look at my boobs while I swam. Not stare at them, mind you. But I should be able to catch a glimpse of them, particularly when I'm switching from one arm to the other. My friend said my stroke was looking a lot better. Look for me in the next Olympics. I'll be the one stealing glances at my boobs.

And, to jump on the bandwagon with the rest of the f-list:

If you could force me to write anything, what would it be? One story only per person.

No, Mollysister, I'm not in the mood to write any Snuna. Think again.