Okay, so my least favorite class hands down is gymnastics. Every Wednesday and Friday I slowly save my energy in preparation for the impending doom of ridiculous, demanding, relentless over stretching designed to increase my flexibility (or break my body. Whichever comes first.) Splits with my legs on chairs, hanging by my arms from bars, teachers standing/sitting on me. It's just all kinds of fun, let me tell you. So in the five minute journey down flights of stairs and through hallways to class, I try to come up with a reason why I can't go. Morgan, my roommate is usually a very good sport and listens to me go on and on. A typical walk to gymnastics class might go like this:

    "Morgan, I think my leg just fell off. Shucks. No gymnastics."

    "Okay Emma."

    "I have influenza...I think I heard that big tree smash through our window...My Mom is calling. It's an emergency."

    "Found an excuse yet?"

    "I'm suffering from a rare jungle fever. There's no cure."

    "Emma..."

    "Dude, I think I just ate kiwi (I'm allergic to kiwi)! I'm going into shock!"

    "Okay. Shut up."

The dreaded gymnastics room. (ГИМ жал)