Bo-Bo Knows Shred Day 13

A brief interlude to prove that I'm not exagerrating about how hard this all is:

This morning I called my husband into the room to check out my form, offer me tips. Not a smart move. You see, I failed to take into account how brainwashed he's been by this doorstop of a fitness book he ordered--something like the "Men's Health Bible?" He looked from my walking plank push up to the one the three women on screen were demonstrating and then back to mine.

Then he said: "I guess you're doing it like they are, but their form isn't right either."

If I had the breath to do it, the primal scream aimed at him would have shook houses a town over.

Always a glutton for punishment, I called him in to be my eyes on another plank pose a few minutes later. The verdict?

"Passable."

Later, during a move that had me panting, he poked his head back in and in a voice that can only be described as one he ripped off from the monster truck commercials (think: Sunday! Sunday! Sunday! ) and said: "Feel the buuuuurn!"

The aforementioned panting preventing me from voicing a witty comeback, but I shot him a look that caused him to back out of the room, saying: "Nooooot int he mood."

He boomeranged back into the room again a few minutes after that, just as I'd finished the last round of cardio and collapsed into the final ab pose, panting. He offered the following not so constructive criticism:

"Well, you look like you're going to die."

Thank you guru Mike. Thanks a lot.