My wife runs. She goes running for miles in the hills above our house, be gone for hours. She goes out dancing, too. There are three of them: blonde, brunette, and a redhead—they call themselves the Russian Angels. My wife is hot. They go out, three of them, and dance all night. Break hearts. No, I don't dance. My wife? Used to be a gymnast on the Ukraine team. Her toes could break any bone in my body. She broke her son's finger. Twice. With her toes. She didn't mean to. She was just trying to show him what strong was.