“Walking on high heels, soaking up life”

Fifteen Love

Woke up this morning to a guttural grunt, followed by a regular "pop" sound and the odd squeak. No, that's not the first bottle of wine be opened (and the pleasure that accompanies it). The guys are playing Wimbledon again.
Being blessed with our own tennis court and "Schöner Mann" as a personal trainer, I decide it's time for my first training session. After all, someone has to get rid of all the calories consumed during the past days (although a full week of boot camp would probably be more appropriate), and since I have Shoetation sports gear (aka high "tennis" heels) at my disposal: am ready to rumble.

I know little more about tennis than that the dresscode is a white mini skirt short enough to almost see to "Timbuktu", and that someone keeps on shouting "fifty love". Well, LOVE I can do! Am white tennis goddess and the next Steffi Graf. But *gosh* who knew that you have to run so fast, and that your arm almost falls off after two backhands? A couple of miserable cross courts later I want to "Grand Slam" my racket (very Mc Enroe style) in the corner.

Next time will play Wimbledon my style: eating strawberries with whipped cream that is.


Today's shoes are (hahahaaaa, how appropriate): Fersengold

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