Hey, my stomach said, poking me from inside the abdominal wall. Shhh, I whispered. Hey, it said more forcefully, somehow managing to wiggle its fingers through a layer of fat to grab my ribs and shake them like a bad women-in-prison movie, I'm hungry. Shush, I said. Snack on the re-emergent fat roll if you're peckish. And I continued on my walk.
This morning was hideously humid, the harbinger of a severe storm system winging in across the northern plains and currently dumping on the Quad Cities on the Iowa-Illinois border. I was attempting some sort of cardio activity to jump-start the morning since the kid was still snoring and showing no signs of wanting to get up to play basketball, so I traipsed along the side of roads that were busier than I'd hoped and dodged cars.
There were a few intriguing finds, including four CDs (two mix CDs, one Nickelback, one band I'd never heard of) and two wireless phones, home handset versions. Not sure what they were doing languishing in the grass alongside Klein Road. Trudging through the dew-damp grass, I remembered how we always knew when someone had new shoes when I was in elementary school, back in the days when it seemed everyone wore blue canvas sneakers with white rubber toe caps. Within a couple of days' use, the toe caps were irrevocably grass stained. It felt funny to be worrying about my new Pumas in this alien (for them) environment.
Stomach lost in the end. I came home and had toast. Hah! Take that, stomach!