"The way I see it, you've got to have a real good reason not to run," Darla said, then raised her old coffee mug to her lips, "almost cold, still drinkable."
"Well, I don't know about you, but running is so tiring for me. I mean think of
(more) all the back and forth, all of the up and down and around and around that you have to do in order to really lose your breath. And isn't that what running's all about?" Chris said. She liked to eat all of the foam from her cappuccino, every last cloudy bit, and the spoon always missed little bits here and there, so she used her finger as a squegee around the rim of the cup.
"I don't know what you are talking about but we're out of tea cookies," Pam said. She was looking at Lester, who was fist deep in a cookie jar.
"What?" he said, "I'm stuck."
"Since when?" Darla said. "You'd stick yourself in a cookie jar just so you could spend some extra time with the cookies. I know you, Lester. Too well."
The ladies laughed.
"Can't run now," Darla scoffed.
"Even if he could, do you really think he'd get very far? Darla would just have to open a window and set a pie in it and he'd be back like he was never gone."
"It's stuck stuck. I'm serious. My hand is swelling up and there's no way I'll get out of here without breaking the jar."
"That sounds about right," Darla said. "Fat hands know their limits."
"Hey! I'd appreciate some help over here."
Lester waved his cookie jar fist in the air. "I'm serious. This isn't funny."
The ladies were laughing, but out of respect for dear Lester, they smirked behind their hands.
(less)
