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When Large Marge is Found… Torture Ensues

05 Dec Posted by in Family Life | Comments
When Large Marge is Found… Torture Ensues
 
I hate running. But what I hate even more than running is running in the cold. I am a big baby. So if I have to choose between the two, I will choose just running. In fact, what I do can’t even be classified as running so we’ll just agree to call it jogging, which is more appropriate since that’s about as fast as my short, chubby legs will go.

If Nike says so, it must be true.

 

So what does jogging have to do with being an expatriate?

It starts with the fact that it is now cold outside. And the cold makes me dizzy… and causes a relapse in my Transient Global Amnesia. So if I want to jog (nobody really wants to jog, do they?), I must find a way to do it inside.

Fortunately, I lugged my treadmill from the US, but it requires a converter. A rather large converter.

When we remodeled the cellar, the converter, Large Marge went missing in action.

We put Large Marge in a “safe place.” So safe we couldn’t remember.

No, my Transient Global Amnesia wasn’t acting up again.

Yes, Large Marge has her own name. Anything that weighs more than the baby and has the power to zap the life into or out of any human being can have its own name.

Together again. At last.

 

We have been searching for Large Marge since… well… just after our second child was born… He will be a year old at the end of this month.

How does one misplace an over-20-lb black, shiny box? (She’s over 9 kilos.)

I. Don’t. Know.

But we somehow managed.

After Kay and I tore apart most of the downstairs, I accidentally found Large Marge in the storage closet in the cellar safely tucked behind a canister of light bulbs, two table cloths, a large, plastic, blue IKEA bag, and next to two Turtle Doves and a Partridge in a Pear Tree. (Not really, but I was starting to hear the song in my head so I thought I’d just go with it.)

We can now call off the search teams and I can now go about my miserable way “jogging” on the treadmill in my cramped little corner of the house.

There is nothing wrong with this cramped little corner other than if I make one misstep on the treadmill, I might end up with something sharp stabbing me in the leg or back.

 

As if I don’t already have enough crap stacked around the treadmill, Kay suggested I set the chocolate-filled Advent Calendar next to the treadmill too. This way I just have to run an extra mile in order to eat the day’s treat.

I reminded him that we are in Germany so I should only have to run an extra kilometer rather than a mile.

Now if only I could switch the unit of measurement on the treadmill from miles to kilometers.

*When my mother reads this, all she will hear is, “Blah, blah, blah… We totally tore apart the laundry room while searching for Large Marge… again! Just before your arrival.”

Yes, mom. I know you have already thoroughly cleaned the laundry room twice since we’ve lived here. We’ll be sure to clean it before you arrive… Or maybe just close the door. Or maybe find some ingenious way to hide our mess… similarly to how I used to cram things under my bed or in my closet as a child.

**I know there are other cardiovascular activities in which I can partake. But somehow torturing myself jogging seems like the best form of cardiovascular punishment.

***No runners (or joggers) were injured in the writing of this blog post… yet.


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