femme and friend

went to the gym last night. I use "gym" in the losest sense of the word - it's the pool house at the golf club that is turned into a fitness center (?) over the winter. Seven machines in a row, some of which are in serious disrepair, a set of mismatched weights, some sort of upper body apparatus and one of those large body balls. It's grey. Grey. What's wrong with red or blue? Two tiny tvs, one of which wasn't working. Why do you use that particular gym you might ask? Well, it's close and the price is right. Oh yes, there is rarely any one else there - not surprising. My daughter wanted to work out so we went together and I'm so glad we did. She pedalled away on the bike and I took a stroll on the treadmill and watched CNN. It gave us an appetite for the curried shepherd's pie (Amanda Hesser) for dinner. Company, calisthenics and cooking: what more does a fairfield femme really need?