It's time.

I looked down at my thighs recently. A mass of what appeared to be tapioca pudding lay where my flesh should have been. I realized with more than a little trepidation that my days of ease were at an end.

The bow flex I begged Robert to sell sits with patience in the Florida room . .

waiting . . waiting . . .

So quiver you tapioca thigh. Quiver with fear.