Sky Moon was a woman of goals. She had conquered the international modeling world with her "great attitude" and her 33-26-35 proportions, but after a week of "lazy girl" behavior involving a suspicious amount of local cheese and several movie marathons, she decided her 26-inch waist felt more like a 26.5. "I shall become a master of the jump rope," she declared to her empty living room. "It is the European way. Efficient. Athletic. Intense." She stood in her garden, a vision in high-tech spandex that hugged her 5'7" frame. She had purchased a "Speed Rope" from the local market, which the vendor promised was used by Olympic boxers. Sky adjusted her brown hair into a high, business-like ponytail and gripped the handles. "Okay, Sky. You are an international model. You have coordination. You have grace." She swung the rope. Whack. The plastic cord didn't go under her feet; it performed a perfect, stinging U-turn and lashed her across the shins. Sky hissed, hopping on one foot. "Patience," she reminded herself. "Photographers say I have great patience." She tried again. This time, she jumped too early. The rope caught the back of her head, snagging her ponytail and jerking her neck back with the force of a low-budget action movie stunt. By the third attempt, Sky had managed to get into a rhythm—sort of. She was jumping, but she wasn't so much "skipping" as she was "levitating with panic." Each time the rope came around, she tucked her knees to her chest with a grunt that sounded like a disgruntled pug. Thump-whack. Thump-whack. Thump-OOPS. On the tenth rotation, ambition got the better of her. She tried a "double under" she had seen in a viral video. Her 132 lb frame took flight, but her coordination stayed firmly on the ground. The rope caught both ankles mid-air, turning Sky into a human bolero. She didn't fall gracefully. She went down like a beautiful, tanned tree. As she lay face-down in the grass, she felt the vibration of footsteps. She looked up to see her neighbor, Mr. Gable, leaning over his fence with a watering can. "Planning on jumping to the moon, are we, Sky?" he asked, fighting a grin. "Or is the rope winning the wrestling match?" Sky rolled onto her back, her brown eyes looking up at the vast European sky. She was tangled in neon plastic, her ponytail was lopsided, and her shins were glowing red. "I have decided," Sky said with immense dignity, "that belly fat is a misunderstood concept. It is actually a protective layer for my internal organs during high-impact sports." "A wise philosophy," Gable nodded. "Besides," Sky added, untangling a handle from her hair, "I’m an open-minded person. I tried the rope, and the rope and I have agreed to see other people. I think I’ll go be a lazy girl on the couch now. It’s much safer for the neighbors."