Last summer, around week nine of the tour, Geoff started ordering miso soup for the bus because he couldn't take another cold onion ring at midnight. This year it's taken a whopping fourteen days for Geoff to break up with fried food. It happened in Birmingham after he got on the bus and saw the big pile of soggy Chick-fil-A sandwiches littering the table.
He left a note on the food request list pleading for miso soup and has since been shunning carbohydrates unless it involves english muffins, Marmite, or beer. I, on the other hand, am hanging in there with the fried carbs. I did, however, walk across the street this morning in 112 degree Phoenix heat to buy a Pilates DVD. I did Pilates for an hour once and it seemed alright. Definitely better than yoga since the only part of yoga that doesn't bore me is when I fall asleep or get to admire the tattoos of whoever has their mat is in front of mine.
Tonight I thought it would be funny, considering his new diet, to put a Pop Tart on Geoff's computer and then run out of the room. I had made it only a couple of steps when I heard a strangling noise coming from the office behind me and a THWACK of something hitting the cinder block wall next to my head. I turned around, impressed.
"Did you just DROP KICK A POP TART?"