The Flapdoodlers had their annual "Running of the Bulls" party in honor of their 2 Tauruses, Flapman and Little Miss Flap. This party involves drinking the strongest margaritas ever and then running up their dead end street into the woods and back for a total of a half mile.
Myopic bookworm that I am, I am not made for running. Hell, I'm no good at track and field video games. It is not my sport.
It should be no surprise that I came in last. And I mean dead last. As in "I almost died" last.
I could blame the margarita, or the maker of the margarita, but the full responsibility lies with the drinker of the margarita who had the awesome foresight to wear her low rise pants which are perpetually falling down and a pair of Chucks. I was somehow completely unprepared for the fact that the other people were going to be wearing running shorts and running shoes and, you know, run for fun and stuff.
Well, there's always next year (when I will be sitting on the sidelines with my margarita cheering everyone else on).
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