My friend Roy once talked me into going to a gym for weight training.  Since you don’t know me, let me describe myself to you.  I’m a stick figure.  Not so much now as I was in my early days.  Now I’m more like a stick figure with a marble taped on about mid-ways down.  Roy wasn’t much better, although he did wear jogging shoes and shorts quite often giving the impression that he was considering a possible try at athletics.
    I don’t remember the name of the gym, but there were a couple of cops there that looked like they just stepped off the Mr. Universe stage.  Roy and I were really lucky because one of them offered to help get us started training.  I’ll make this short.  We went through six or seven of the machines and we were wilting like a couple of heads of lettuce in a house fire.  I remember the final exercise and the humiliation that came with it.  We were supposed to do some bench presses, but I couldn’t move the weight.  So they GAVE ME A BROOMSTICK to use instead of the barbell.  All I can say is thank God I had a spotter or I wouldn’t be alive to tell about it.  After four or five reps, I couldn’t get my left arm to move and, I swear, that broomstick would have crushed my Adam’s apple.  My only solace was that Roy didn’t do much better.

    Roy and I used to go to Florida every chance we got.  I remember one particular trip when we went in his Corvette.  Roy was the worst driver you ever met.  Here we were in this White 69’ Vette, being studly and he’d take off from a stop light like he was going to burn up the road.  Except that he’d be through all four gears by the time we hit thirty miles an hour and the car would be bucking and snorting as it lugged along.  He thought “speed shifting” meant shifting through all the gears as fast as you can.  Anyway, we were in Pensacola riding around looking for some “hot chicks to pick up” when we had to stop for a red light.  We were sitting there with the left turn signal flashing, no idea where we were when we noticed a really cute girl in a van on the other side of the stop light was waving at us.  We waved back and of course thought she wanted us badly because she was smiling big and just waving up a storm.
    The light changed and Roy goosed the throttle, did some of his speed shifting and...we were going down a one way street the wrong way.  He whipped the car to the right to avoid oncoming traffic, jumped the curb and we found ourselves driving across a little park area that had benches, a fountain and a locomotive on display.  He maneuvered us off the curb and into the street, this time in the right direction.  Now I ask you, how could a girl resist a couple of wild and crazy guys like us?  Somehow they did.