(WARNING: No profanity, but explicit. True story.)
Ever since college, I try to wake up by 5:30am and do a quick, 3 or more mile run. If it’s too cold outside, I run on the treadmill instead. I don’t really mind running on the treadmill because I get to wear what I would wear if I knew nobody was watching and/or I wouldn’t get arrested. Sometimes, if nobody is home, or if it’s just hubby and me and I feel particularly horny, I like to run in the nude except for sneakers and a sports bra. (Okay, I admit, I really like being a nudist at home anyway, so it’s not really that big a stretch, I suppose.) Anyway, I like to feel super-sexy when I run, like I still have my pre-baby body from back in the 80’s, so I wear the skimpiest, closest-to-porno clothes I can find. Before post-baby-body took over – you know what I’m talking about, you’re still fit and lean, but you never quite get rid of that poochy – boys at my college always gawked as I flew by in my tiniest, cheekiest, baby blue dolphin shorts.