Peggy

Larry,

What's shaking, Hollywood? Not much here. Same old, same old. This is really not a funny story that I am about to tell you. Instead, it's a sad one. This is the story of why it's sad to be a clown.

I was working out at work the other day. I know, that's redundant. Up yours. I was working out alone in the gym. Darryl comes in as he has been known to do from time to time. I usually go late in the afternoon and I think that he likes to go late as well. Maybe because it makes the afternoons shorter. I don't know. It doesn't matter. He gets on the elliptical thing next to me-which is not the bike thing but the one that's like running only not the treadmill thing-and begins his work out. There is some chit chat I'm sure. In walks Peggy, Darryl's admin assistant. Great lady. She asks me about something work-related involving toner, which, as you know, is a big part of my job. I tell that I'd be glad to help her after I finish working out. She leaves with a smile. I have that affect on ladies. When she leaves, I turn to Darryl and say "Peggy! Great lady. I love her; she's so resourceful and smart". I turn to face forward, bowing my head ever so slightly and say, rather loudly, "This is for Peggy!" and I begin to "run" on this machine like there's no tomorrow.

Good stuff. He didn't bite.

I think that he said "Woohoo". It's no fun when people play along.

Take care and write back soon, you fairy.

Paul