It has been a year since I joined a gym, and if that sounds incredulous to you, you should be in my shoes. I always figured that before I said it had been a year since I joined a gym, I’d have said I enjoyed the mushrooms I ate last night.
Hello. I’m Milly, and I’ll be writing today’s column. I know you were all expecting to hear from Mitch, the bald-headed guy who lives at my house. He says he has a lot of work to do, so I agreed to fill in. Remember, I’m a springer spaniel, not a writer. But I’ll do my best.
It’s the wheezing season, and if I’d known I’d need to blow my nose this many times every spring, I’d have sprung for some Kleenex stock and I’d be retired on a beach somewhere with a girl in a bikini bringing me drinks with umbrellas in them instead of writing this column for you.
I was flying in a Georgia State Patrol helicopter with then-Gov. Zell Miller and Macon Mayor Tommy Olmstead, surveying a city flooded by waters from the Ocmulgee River in 1994. The two men were talking about how the state could help the city and I, a young political reporter for the Macon newspaper, got to go along for the ride.