Go, gym dandy

By Tiber

Even with the money disappearing around here, Dad still doesn’t want to have to fire anybody on the staff and God knows, nobody on staff wants to be fired. Positions for household employees have been disappearing since the Edwardian Age.

So now, everybody is starting to barter, as if we’re all living in the Bronze Age.

One of the things Dad has offered to everyone, for a reduction in salary, is full access to our well-equipped gym up here on the third floor.

I don’t mind this in theory, except that now whenever I go in, day or night, at least one member of Dad’s security team is already there, working out again. Why are they still doing this?!? Short of popping their heads off to allow for expansion, they can’t get any bigger. And they’re only making me feel smaller and smaller.

At first I was grateful that at least old Brunty, the butler, was in there occasionally too. He’s whatever the opposite of “toned” would be but now even his presence is ending up intimidating me.

He keeps falling asleep at whatever machine he’s on. And eventually, a security guy ends up wanting the same machine and he has to pick Brunty up and move him away. The guys have realized that moving him never wakes him up so they’ve just incorporated lifting Brunty into their regular routine.

And now I feel worse than ever. I can‘t compete with them. I can’t outlast them. And there’s no way, even going for just thirty seconds, that I can bench press a butler without breaking a sweat.

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