As for me, I was bushed from climbing in, crossing over, and climbing out so many times.

“I’m bushed myself. What with all the excitement of getting those men off, I think I’ve worn myself pure out.”

I touch the fuzzy frizz I call mine; it’s bushed out of the scrunchie.

I was grubby, sweat streaked, comprehensively bushed, and rank enough to turn heads.

By the time Tiger Woods arrived at the 28th golf hole he’d played Saturday, he was bushed.