Don’t fret, pets!

Oh, stop worrying.
I know you’re sitting there with your coffee/tea/chai/sheep’s blood and your Krispy Kreme/bagel with cream cheese/Slim Jim/baby fingers, panting ever so prettily (yes, even the boys) (especially the boys!) for my next entry. And I appreciate it. I really do. I just love how you cling to my every word as if it were your mama’s breast/teat. I do. And I don’t want to wean you. I don’t. And I shan’t.
So don’t fret. I promise I’ll pamper you with some powdery prose and milky musings later. I am, after all, going to the gym today, which, as you know, provides much of the fun fodder for this fabulous site. (For those of you who have my workout schedule memorized or catalogued, you may be interested to know that today my regular Pilates session has been cancelled; thus, the gym beckons.)
Now go back to your greeezy breakfasty food thing and your big cuppa whatever, and wait for me. Do so breathlessly!
Thank you.
P.S. If you are a first-time reader and deem me disrespectful for being so inane on September 11, you may want to read this entry dated September 6. Cheers!