Lizette Margaretovna trudged uphill on the treadmill aware of a discomfort, a dull ache in the part of her on which she had until recently been accustomed to sitting down.
"My butt hurts," Lizette said to Prince Piratoff.
She could feel more and more acutely a shooting pain, a keen sensation everywhere on her lovely body between her hips and the tops of her thighs.
She seemed singularly unaware that this pronouncement might jeopardize her union with Prince Piratoff who loved her deeply, but whose father, Count Rubleski, wanted him to marry the less attractive but nonetheless charming Princess Getova Meovna. The match would have been much more to Count Rubleski's advantage, as Getova's father owned half of St. Scarfersberg but whose fortunes had taken a turn for the worse when his serfs all appended "er" to their title and moved en masse to America.
...Next time - Sartre on the StairMaster!