Just a quick commentary today on friction. I noted the other day while in a skirt and pantyhose that my thighs were becoming quite friendly with one another…they were becoming close. So close that they were tending toward rubbing together.

Now, I may be a short girl, but when I get into power walk mode I can pick up some speed even with my short little legs. I have to tell you, I was becoming a little worried that the friction being created coupled with the speed with which I was walking might start a fire. Just like rubbing two pieces of wood together that then spark and create fire.

I can imagine the headline, “Woman spontaneously combusts walking across the NDSU campus.” There would be an autopsy and the National Enquirer would come and the story would become one of those freak show events where everyone has a theory about how I spontaneously combusted – was it a scientific oddity, was she really as “hot” as she thought she was, was it a hot flash gone wrong and she cooked from the inside out or was it aliens? All the while my thighs, having burned away, would escape notice.

So, with all of you as my witnesses, if this happens to me – blame the thighs and see if you can at least get on Oprah’s show to talk about what a tragic warning this serves as for those who have abandoned their Thighmaster. And don’t forget to say while on Oprah with an appropriately serious face, “She always thought she was hot, I guess she was right.” Hey, not every girl can start a fire with her thighs…it has to count for something.

Day forty-five of the new forty – obla di obla da

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