um, your face is going to freeze like that

Went wrunning yesterday. The night before, Mercedes said she was doing NINE MILES in the morning. (Have I ever mentioned that she was half my inspiration for getting off my @$$ in the first place this summer?) So when I left work too late to get to the pool, I said fork the heat and went wrunning. To be accurate and fair, it was more walk than run, but I like to have keep some method to the madness so I pulled the dog (oddly recalcitrant today) up the main road at two-minute, then five-minute, then 10-minute jogs. Met up with S. along the way and handed off the dog so I could have a nice, untethered and uninterrupted run back down.

Yesterday's run made me wonder what I look like when I'm running. I don't mean my running stance or posture or whatever - I know it's all wrong and there's too much bounce in my step, etc. But my face - what does it look like? I wonder if I look angry. I wouldn't think so, just because I actually feel happy when I run lately - or, at least, in some kind of glad wonder that I haven't quit or fallen or expired. On the other hand, I seriously doubt that I'm running around the valley with the world's biggest smile on my face. Because even though I'm enjoying it, it is hard. So I am curious.

Because.

Yesterday I ran past what looked like, drumroll please, the World's Angriest Man. The look he gave me when he ran by was one of pure hatred. I mean, it did not look like he was focusing on his run or listening to "Eye of the Tiger" or anything like that - it looked like he was trying very hard to kill me with his face. If such a thing were possible, he may have succeeded - I was totally blindsided. Me: happy little bee flitting down the sidewalk. Him: angry little hornet wanting to kill the little bee. It's possible that I just looked up at the wrong split second - maybe he was listening to some cheesy song (and maybe I wear that face when I'm listening to the 8 Mile soundtrack, who knows?) but still, I'm gonna start running in shades again. Because that was Ouch with a capital Ow.

Anyway, at last, some pictures from dinner. Well, from dessert. I have to blog things like Melona bars, you understand. I have not had a Melona bar in years, and had forgotten how heavenly, how much like melon-flavored butter they taste. They became a big joke in my circle of friends after a guy asked me out with this line: "Hey, we should go and get a Melona Bar sometime." But I solemnly swear never to joke about Melona Bars again - or to mock nice guys who use them to ask out girls. If I had known anything, I would have married that boy.

Just kidding. (I have to say "just kidding" because my sense of humor and S.'s don't always mesh and I don't want him calling me from work later, asking for his ring back.)

So here we are with our Melona Bars. It's possible that by the time the picture was taken I had devoured mine completely. Yes, that is more than likely. There are more pictures but 1) I'm out of blogging time and 2) they're all of Melona Bars, so.