Tis the time of year when I cast aside my winter sackcloth and try to trim down a little so I look foxy in my spring clothes. But unless I have a fun 'hook' to my fitness regime, I tend to stray the course more than stay the course.
I recently had the pleasure of spending four days with a new friend who happens to be a terrific listener, a boon for a born storyteller like me. As I regaled her with tale after tale in this short time period, I got to notice a pattern in the way I speak about my life. A not-so-nice pattern. An uncomfortably large number of my stories ended something like this: