Henry VIII should have been wearing Manolos.

Remember in 9th grade world history class when your teacher explained to you that contrary to what popular culture shows you today, being fat in the 1500s was actually a sign of being wealthy and upper-class? I've realized what the 2011 version of being fat is: uncomfortable shoes.

Having spent most of my time at the Statehouse today running meaningless errands, I looked down at my extremely comfortable, albeit bland, shoes and realized that my feet would have committed suicide if I wore the 4-inch pumps that many of the young, perky lobbyists and lawyers wear. It's easy to wear fabulous stilettos when all you do is sit in them all day and occasionally saunter over to the ladies room to powder your nose. When your job consists of walking to CVS to buy 12-packs of Diet Cokes in 90 degree heat and delivering printed out emails with post-its attached (the trees! think of the trees!) it becomes a priority to have comfortable shoes. If you have a job where the most walking you do is to your chauffered Towne car, kudos to you. You've made it. Great. Why don't Choo stop flaunting your $4000 shoes in our faces? Come on!

Even though there may be a hint of jealousy there, I know that us lowly serfs will have an advantage if life turns into a scene from Saw 5 or whatever number they're on. Not only will I have the practical shoes to make a dash from the serial killer, but I'll have the cardiovascular strength that my pampered counterpart lacks from sitting around eating bon-bons all day admiring their Manolos. Score: Serfs 1, Royals 0.

The cure for the common sloth

In the second grade I was in a puppet show that featured the animals of the rain forest. I was assigned the part of the baby sloth. Together with mama sloth, we met the other animals of the rain forest and taught them the pitfalls of becoming lazy and inefficient in an ecosystem that is rapidly disintegrating. I actually have no idea what the plot for this dumb puppet show was, but I do remember my one line and it was written in the script like this: "I AM A BABY THREEEEE TOEED SLOOOOTH. I SLEEEEP UP TO EIGHTEEEEN HOURS A DAY." I can't believe we didn't get a Tony. Robbed.

Since I got up at 9:30 this morning, I have not changed out of my pajamas and my movement has been limited to adjusting my pillows and walking the 20 feet to the kitchen. It is now 2:28. I have become the baby threeeeeeee-tooooooooeeed slooooooooth. Someone please tell me how to fight my sloth tendencies. If at all possible, please post comments in the form of IKEA pictorial instructions. If it takes too long, I'll probably be too lazy to read anything.