Boot Camp

Hold that plank!!!

Yesterday's boot camp instructor mistook Studio City for Basic Training Camp.  She was a last-minute sub, prone to bark orders like a drill sergeant.  "You call that a squat?!"  "Tighten those abs!"  "Hold that plank!"  "Lunge deeper!" "Punch that bag!  Punch it!  Do it till you can't breathe!"  The SJG doesn't take well to commands, unless they're followed by a pat on the head, a treat and repeated praise: "Good girl!" Give me Sees, give me Hershey's, and I'm happy to roll over and play dead.  But the drill sergeant offered no rewards, and therefore, I responded accordingly.  My inner beyotch came out, full-throttle.  Under duress, the SJG gives attitude.  Don't believe me?  References available upon request.  For a solid hour, I mocked the instructor and lived to tell the tale.  Every time she called out an order, I did the opposite.  When told to lunge and punch, I danced, I shimmied, I sashayed.  Told to jump, I skipped.  This latent urge to disobey explains so much about the formerly shy SJG.  Somewhere along the way, I transformed into Little Miss Don't Eff With Me.  I always knew she was in there.  It only took about five decades to take her out in public. So if you mess with me, I will overreact.  I will go over the top.  I will emote.  I won't take it lying down.  Unless you give me chocolate.  Then I cave easily.  That's just how I roll, bitches.