I decided to run in the park behind our old apartment building during my second week of attempting to become a runner. It was quite muddy, but there were kids playing on the swings and I passed another runner on the grassy trail so it seemed a quaint yet quiet respite from my normal lap around the street.
When I got to the gate that has since we've moved here been wide open to eternity: it was locked. If I needed proof that I have yet to reach "fat" proportions, when I slipped under the gate through the hole between the wet ground and the metal would have been it. My butt didn't even get dirty, I'm that good at getting around fences. What that says about me, I have yet to determine, but I think it's a talent I've not put to full use (Mom, next Comanche trip, let's break into an abandoned house. Seriously).
When I passed the dumpster I noticed a hutch. Certainly there had to be something wrong with it. I opened all the drawers (my run was over a this point), inspected the sides, even smelled it (yes, smelled it). Nothing. Nada. Zip. So I carried it, sweating, home.
Turns out it's the exact (and let me mention, not normal) proportions I needed for a storage container to fit between the tub and the cabinet in my bathroom. I freaking LOVE it when things work out this way!
Come Back and Stay by Chicane (amazing)
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