Bawk-Bawk

Sometimes when I'm walking home from yoga I'm just enjoying feeling all stretched out and centered and sometimes I put the mind to polishing a little nugget of a thought so that I can present it to you here. Like this one: When you go to the grocery store, you can buy a four-pound whole chicken, which is perfectly acceptable and will cook up quite nicely or you can go for the seven-pounder, which is that much plumper (but in a nice, muscley way), juicier, and tastier.

I, dear readers, am like the seven-pound chicken. Except I don't have a pop-up thermometer stuck in my ass and my guts aren't wrapped in wax paper.