This morning, like so many times before, I grappled with my archenemy.
I was foolish enough to hope our meeting would be brief, but that just wasn't in the cards. This would be a fight to the death.
Tapping out was not an option; Gary had left for work hours ago, and through no fault of his own, Brutus is pretty much useless in situations like these (although he did do a wonderful job of saving me from Lord Voldemort in a dream I had last night. He always comes through when it counts.)
More than once I considered giving up, but the thought of admitting defeat was so humiliating that I knew I must win this battle even if it killed me.
After ten solid minutes of kicking, screaming, grunting and cursing, my nemesis finally gave way and I emerged victorious. The quickly emerging soreness in my muscles was nothing compared with the satisfaction of knowing I had beaten the odds using nothing but my bare hands, sweat and tears.
There will be pickles on my sandwich today. Oh yes; there will be pickles.