Brand Whores

It happened by accident, I swear.  Mr. Cookie found an outfit (sans shorts- I swear he plans to get some at some point), I found an outfit, and…. wouldn’t you know, it’s all Nike.  Oops.  Nike, you can send us the check for the free publicity anytime.  Just ignore my Brooks running shoes.  My old Nike sneaks are what caused the crater, so you’ll understand.

For the record, this does not take care of the fear of failing OR the intense cravings for chicken fried steak.  But, without further ado:

His

Hers

I know.  I copped out and got capri pants.  Still, you haven’t SEEN my thighs.  They’re even scarier than the picture I posted of my foot.

And finally, just to REALLY be sure there is NO chafing

Because that’s how I roll.

Also, I’d like to point out that Mr. Cookie failed at finding orange running shoes.

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