Great Balls Of Frying Pan Into The Fire

‟Nic's day started off poorly. The electrician who was called to fix the faulty bathroom light did so by properly screwing in one of the 3 new light-bulbs already tried by your author. It appears her wrists are pathetically weak when faced with these new-fangled CFL bulbs. :: sigh ::

The day continued in a better vein, however, when 2 parcels arrived from her very kind little sister, one containing lovely things for Christmas (which may or may not include chocolate), and in the other 3 kettle-bells of differing weights, which will not only help work off that Schrödinger's chocolate, but will also strengthen up those obviously weak wrist muscles. 

It's almost like she knew..."

The postie rang my door buzzer and presented me with a rather large and heavy parcel from Amazon the other morning, and once I managed to drag it upstairs and open it up, this was inside (well, this plus and awful lot of packing air pockets - Amazon do seem to enjoy sending their wares in disproportionately large boxes, and this one was no exception. I don't have photographic evidence, because, really, I think we've already seen more fantastic examples of ridiculous packing practises on social media, so you can use your imagination!

Now, I have to point out that I was not responsible for the order (I know, I know; that spoiler was already broadcast in the status, but bear with me), so I made a bee-line for the little card glued to the top of the box, which read:

The blanked-out name is my sister - the Queen of Sarcasm! (A very kind, and benevolent queen, it must be said!) She had ordered some kettle-bells for herself when I was last at home and we were both fair taken with them; they seemed well made, looked great, and handled nicely. Or as nicely as we could tell by pretending to work out then and there in her kitchen, whilst also trying to avoid squishing her box-loving kitties.

To understand the full meaning of the note, you need to go back a couple of years here on the blog, and you'll find a post or two :: coughs :: (I shan't be winning Miss Graceful Co-ordination any time soon) about my extraordinary gift for thwacking myself in the face with various supposedly weight-losing, health-improving exercise tools whilst attempting to work out. I can't quite remember the last occasion I committed actual bodily harm to myself (although no doubt it's not that long ago - I stopped taking note once it became obvious that the first three or four times weren't going to be isolated incidents) but one thing's for sure; I'd be left with more than a graze or two and a bloody nose if any part of myself was on the receiving end of one of these babies:

Two, three, and four kilogram kettle-bells from DKN. (Not an affiliated link, but maybe I should start thinking about touting for business... Or maybe not. I suspect most makers of exercise equipment don't really want to be associated with Little Miss Clumsy here.)

Aren't they pretty, though? (Hey, sis - the blue one'll go with my kitchen!! Sorry, private joke. Ach, not so private - most of my El Cheapo accoutrements de cuisine, ranging from plastic spoons, to mixing bowls, to sets of kitchen knives, to silicon cookie mats, [hey, I forgot I had that - this blog is coming in very handy for rediscoveries of all kinds] are turquoise. It started with a whisk in France, which is a lot less exciting than it sounds... A little shop opened up near me, selling all sorts of wonderful kitchen gadgets and aids, but it was all a tad out of my price range, until I saw the silicon whisk in a tantalising turquoise blue. It was love at first polymer compound.)

But getting back to the pretty cannonballs with handles, I can tell you that the pink kettle-bell has already been put to the test in a kettle-bell inspired video workout by my online trainer of choice, Ms Smith of JessicaSmithTV fame, and I think my arms and stomach muscles may stop complaining in the next day or so.

I'll keep you informed once I have control over my upper body again...