I was mugged last night – by a group of 60+ year old water aerobics ladies. It’s true. Me – whose body was crafted on Olympus and forged in the same ovens as German Chocolate Cake, I was waylaid by smiling grandmothers and lured into a sadomasochistic 90 minute ritual of exercise and swimming pool volleyball. They were evil. I tell you evil, with their talk of covered dish goodbye Pot Luck after next week’s water aerobics class. All the while a Life Guard paced back and forth and never once offered to jump in and guard my life as these Marquis De Sade matrons tortured me with shoulder circles, leg kicks and Styrofoam dumbbells. P90 X -- I’m not impressed. These grinding grandmas would turn Tony Horton into a blithering idiot. They made me do leg lifts, crunches and all sorts on unimaginable movements meant to reduce a man to tears. All the while, I’m huffing and puffing and they are casually chatting about recipes, trips, and the inevitable battle of decorating the house for Christmas. It was all I could do not to drown. You know what’s worse? These torso-twisting terrorists were only the “coping with arthritis” squad. Can you imagine what diabolical dexterity is required from the full-functioning water aerobics class (class - misnomer for sure)?