Stage Two: Anger

What the heck?

You did do it, didn't you, Roxie? You did. You did it.

And not only did you do it, but you told every single person that you know and more than a few people that you don't know that you did do it.

You told people that you signed up for a half marathon. You told people that you trained for a half marathon. You told people that you made plans to go to a half marathon.

So now you have to run that half marathon.

Roxie, you drama-loving, noise-making, ruckus-causing, attention-seeking, obviously-a-baby-of-the-family diva wannabe; for the love of all that is pure and simple and quiet and meek in this world, when-when-when-when will you learn to keep your mouth shut?

This is bad.

This is big.

This is both bad and big.

This is exactly the kind of stunt that makes the Ricky Riccardos of the world slap their foreheads and shout, "Ai-yi-YI-yi-YI!"

Dang, girl.

Next time, why don't you just get a tattoo or pierce something? It'd probably be less painful.