Perimeter meaning the 6 mile patrol road inside the fence of the military installation on which I work, where some half a dozen of us comprise a pool of running “talent” and strive to show up for a noontime run a couple times a week if we can escape our desks. We share a lot and these guys are one of the core pillars of my sanity.
One of our lunchtime running group, KK (a Reservist who returned from being deployed last summer), recently had surgery to fix an old injury that’d flared up. He’s been off running for a couple months now, and his return to running is still a way off. Anyway, KK emailed this morning: “First day of therapy this morning... Not as bad as I thought, but will have to wait and see how it feels later.”
Upon reading this, my mind immediately takes an abrupt turn into the gutter. Man, I could really riff on the straight line he just fed us, but I really shouldn't. Then I weakened...nah, I can't let an opportunity like this go, so I emailed back: “Kinda like the two dollar whore you visited while on R + R.”
I did go on to say that I hoped that KK would make continued progress with his rehab, but he will undoubtedly bust me as soon as the opportunity presents itself. I'd better duck and cover.
PS. KK does not visit prostitutes.