Frumpy Plans a Jog

Although I initially said I’d go for a jog just to get Tamara to quit harping at me to visit the gym, the onset of fall in Twinbrook got me thinking I might actually do it. The crunch of autumn leaves underfoot, the tang of cider in the air–who could resist?

But it wasn’t just the change of seasons calling me out for a run. It might also have been the tepid endorsement I received last week from the editorial board of the Twinbrook Tribune, the one that made sure to mention my “frumpy frame,” even as it extolled the virtues of my platform.

“The best part? I’m sure they meant ‘dumpy’,” I told Tamara. “But you know how journalists are about alliteration. Like never mind that ‘frumpy frame’ doesn’t even make sense–it makes them feel writerly.”

“They always put women through that shit,” Tamara said. “Don’t worry about it. If it were me running, they’d never shut about my scandalous skirt length. Or my lipstick. Or something. It’s always something! Meanwhile, the current mayor’s a balding blob of dough, so in bed with the Racket family it’s a wonder they don’t all have yeast infections.”

“They could try writing about that for a change,” I said, still miffed at the Trib.

“What, you want them to do journalism or something? Come on, now. Kate, are you making apple pancakes again?”

This is our breakfast tradition: Fighting about which is better, pancakes or waffles. Tamara reps waffles; I’m Team Pancakes. I knew she was starting this to get my mind off my “frumpy frame.” Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect.

“You’re right. I ought to just have a yogurt or something.”

“Kate, don’t! Don’t let them get to you like that. I’m sorry. I was just messing with you.”

“Maybe I should go to the gym with you today. What do you think? Are you up for it?”

Tamara looked down at her plate and said, “Mmm, I don’t know. I thought you were gonna give jogging a try?”

It took me a minute to work it out, but only a minute. We’ve been friends since middle school, after all. “Holy shit,” I said. “Already? When did you–”

“Ooh, look at the time. Gotta go! You aren’t frumpy. Have a good run, girl!”

“I’ll give it my best shot,” I said. “Please give my regards to Des.”

I didn’t catch all of Tam’s response, but I think it was something along the lines of not being able to hear me, tra la la la la.

Well, at least I would no longer be nagged to visit the gym for awhile. Meantime, I saw no sense in wasting such beautiful pancakes.

After all, I was going to run them off later, right?