Boot Me Out Of Bed

I am so ashamed people. You can beat me up and bounce me off the back of a blimp. I've still not gotten back on the applecart to exercise. And I have an unworn, brand-new-with-tags top to exercise in to prove it. Not even the lure of new exercise gear is enough to lure me. 

Someone paint that thing with the pheromones of neatly carved abs, tight glutes and honed arms - and there might be some interest. 

But nope. I'm still lolling about in bed in the morning. Far beyond when the sun wakes up, I'm still fighting to stay under the covers. It's warm under there. The doona is my friend, and sleep my lover. If it wasn't for work and my children requiring breakfast, lunches to be packed and help to get them off to school - well I'd be totally committed to a few jolly good in bed, long, bigger than King Kong sleep ins. They feel so good. And so foreign. 

Somebody: say something. Make me do it. 

Maybe that could be a new Nike slogan. Make me do it.