Lying on my side, working through the clamshell exercises and side planks directed by my trainer, I stare sort of blankly at the treadmill frame.
After a few weeks (OK, maybe it was a few months), I finally notice someone staring back at me. Someone who looks as if they belong in a Picasso painting.
I’ll never look at a treadmill the same again!
Tom
Tom – Who knew they were watching us?
1984?
Barry – Goodness, I hope not.
Picasso, eh? This piece of art certainly ups the ante! I think we are venturing into the territory Melanie sang about when she protested that “a thing’s a phallic symbol when it’s longer than it’s wide.” When is a face no longer a face? Point of view is everything.
Laurna -:-) Perhaps. I find that once I see eyes, I’m looking for the other features.