How My Girlfriend Get Abs !!The road went on forever, it seemed to me. At least, there was no snowfall, yet. Although the forecast predicted that it would come down hard, today. As a matter of fact, it was a pretty fair day in the Highlands. Especially, if one considered that it was the day before New Year's Eve. My mobile phone rang. I was checking the rear view mirror for a patrol car. Nothing, so I answered the call: "Hello?" "Hello Bruce! Did she sign the contract?" It was John Macdonald, my partner and he referred to the reason why I was driving right in the middle of nowhere. "Aye, Mary signed the contract this morning! Don't ask me how I finally got her to sign it!" I replied. John chuckled: "So, the queen was her usual self, again?" Well, the "queen" was our primary client! Her real name was Mary Stuart and she was a big pain in the neck. Sometimes I thought that she would end up like her royal namesake: with her head chopped off by some fed up TV-producer. Yes, Mary was an actress and despite her behaviour a bloody good one. "The BBC will probably not like her additional terms but at the end of the day they want her!" I mentioned. To be honest the producer was likely to get a heart attack but Mary would get her terms fulfilled. She had a reputation of being a prima donna, so everybody expected her to act up on her image. Well, I was used to her behaviour and eventually she paid my bills. "I don't want to know about the terms before the New Year, Bruce! Please, don't spoil my holidays!" John moaned. "When will you be in Glasgow?" he wanted to know. "Probably at dinnertime, if everything works out on the road!" I predicted. I sent a silent prayer to heaven. As a good old city boy I really hated the Highlands - especially at this time of the year. John finished: "Give me a call when you are home safely! By the way happy New Year, mate!" "Yeah, kiss my ass, too! Bye, John!" I retorted and terminated the conversation. Then I continued my drive down the A82. It was already past lunchtime and my stomach started to complain. A couple of miles behind Ballachulish I stopped in a little village snack bar to get something to eat. I had a couple of sandwiches made of stale bread and a cup of coffee tasting like old socks boiled in hot turpentine but at least the stomach was pretty busy digesting the stuff and would not bother me till I reached Glasgow. After an hour I got in my car again and drove on. Unfortunately, the weather tried to pull a fast one on me.