I was seriously jonesing for some cherry licorice the other day (why? I don’t know? Get off my case, okay?), so walked down to Ste-Catherine in search of the nearest pharmacy, where I am always sure to find the best selection of candy. Yup, drugstores sell you the shit that makes you sick, so that you’ll come back and buy the stuff to make you well again.
Anyhow, so walking back to work, some gem in the reptilian section of my mind woke up to remind me that, hey, there’s supposed to be a yoga studio around here. And sure enough, it’s right next door to the pharmacy, and? they offer classes at lunch. So, um, yay me. Kripalu for an hour, followed by a half-pound bag of licoricey goodness right after.
Can life get any better than this? I submit that it can not! (Okay, perhaps my opinion is swayed by being the only guy in a room of hot, sweaty women, but I’d like to think that I’m above that. I feel like Harold Perrineau in that one episode of Dead Like Me.)