Izzy, my financial manager, joined a gym. This is a normal sort of thing that people do every day, especially in my world, but it really is something of an event for Izzy, who could probably head-trip 24/7 had he not developed a fondness in his middle years for Golden Retrievers, a breed which requires a fair amount of boisterous exercise. Inger (Mrs. Izzy) despairs of the way he remains fused to his computer most days. Were it not for the dogs and his curious zeal for his softball league, in which he is the oldest catcher on record, he might take root.
So I quizzed him excitedly about his new membership in “Exercise Nation” (Our motto: “So new our website is still illegible!”). In my fantasy universe, Izzy takes up Matt Furey bodyweight exercises and slings kettlebells.
They offered, along with typical gym equipment, things like aqua massage and infrared therapy: “What I was told about the aqua massage is that you place yourself in some kind of bag while wearing either a bathing suit or tight fitting clothing. The bag is inside some chamber that gets bombarded with water from jets but you don’t get wet. It isn’t there yet so I can’t tell you more than that. The club has 2 plans only one of which entitles you to all this extra stuff like the aqua massage bag. I didn’t choose that plan but might change my mind later on… ”
I cannot escape an image of a full-term fetus whose mother has been to a Mexican restaurant recently. I can’t wait to get Mrs. Izzy’s take on this.