The world naked bike ride was last Saturday. What an eyeful. Game 7 of the Stanley Cup is... now. Both get your blood pumping.
I was in a pizza shop, devouring a Sicilian and slurping on a Limonata when I saw the herd nearing. All were nude save for their helmets -- safety first, after all!
And to think I actually rushed to the window with phone in hand to get a shot. Why? Novelty, I suppose. These are things one can't anticipate on any given weekend: ogling a nude cycle gang while noshing on a slice.
Today, it's 25 degrees, the sun doesn't set until 9pm and Mr. Man and I are indoors planted in front of the television, eating chilli, tortilla chips and sausages. This makes sense in his world because such testosterone-driven activities (ie. playoff hockey) demand eating testosterone-friendly foods. Let's go with that. It means I don't have to cook. It also means it's going to get extra heated in here tonight.
First period is more than half over. Screaming at a minimum so far. Only two more hours to go. Will surely need more fuel...
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