There was an interesting news article on the CNN website the other day about a man who stole large sums of money from his company in order to pay a professional dominatrix to beat him up. My first thought was that that was pretty stupid. But then I thought that, except for the part about stealing from his company, the article could have been about me.

Agnes and I have paid good money to a nice young lady named Helen to beat us up. Actually, she advertises herself as a "Personal Trainer" rather than a "Dominatrix," works out of the local Gold's Gym instead of a dungeon, and wears sweats and t-shirts instead of leather corsets, but the end result is the same...after an hour of her attention, my aging body is screaming for mercy.

Well, Bilbo, you say, you brought it on yourself, and I did. Of course, it was Agnes's idea in the first place, but the idea of hiring a personal trainer to get me looking all buffed up and muscular instead of saggy and baggy had a certain appeal. The problem, of course, is that all this takes time, effort, willpower, and - naturally - money. So here I am, paying Helen to hurt me in the hope of achieving the greater goal of turning from couch potato to Adonis. Will it work? Check back in a few months and I'll let you know.

In the meantime, that pitiful moaning sound you hear in the distance is probably me, being introduced by Helen to muscles I'd long ago forgotten I had. And the other noise is Agnes chuckling at my discomfiture.

My advice: if you're young, get in shape now and stay there. I'm here to tell you that it's not fun to do it once you're on the outside of 50!

More thoughts tomorrow. If I can move my hands and arms to type.

Bilbo