Dear Young Treadmill Hotness,
You are fine. In fact, when you chose the treadmill next to
mine my heart fluttered a little. Or
maybe a lot. Like I was in 7th
grade all over again and you just let me borrow your pencil during our
pre-algebra quiz. It was love at first
sight.
Secretly I always wish for a prince or hot piece of ass to
sit next to me on flights. Mostly I just
get overweight old ladies or people who don’t speak English and smell
funny. So when you plopped your hot ass
on the treadmill next to me you can imagine what went through my mind. No, you have no clue what went through the
pea-sized brain of mine do you? B-I-N-G-O, read my
internal banter between me and secretly, you.
Oh shite, I wore the wrong outfit to the gym today. Why did I choose the bra that makes one boob
look smaller than the other? Gawd, I’m genius.
Great, while watching myself jog in the mirror ahead I can see one
bigger-looking boob bounce more than the other.
Like two watermelons fighting for the summer picnic competition going on
in there. I wonder if you notice
asymmetrical boobage I have going on as well?
Note to self, need new sports bras.
Oh, my hair. What a
hot, frizz-net mess. Did I actually think the bobby pins would hold in this rat
nest? Holy love of Clairol, I can see
the fucking gray hairs framing my forehead from here. I’m pretty sure you’re not going to pull a
Demi-Ashton relationship, so I bet I’m not even game in your book. You look 30ish. I look like I’m shaking hands with 40 (with
asymmetrical boobage, mind you).
Wow, those are some calves you have going on. While starring at your legs that could
probably run for 30 miles in stride without a glitch in your hitch, I’m almost
falling off my treadmill because my sense of balance is so off. Oh wait, hold on……………whew, that was a close
call. Running at a speed of 3.5 is
dangerous compared to your pacing of 7.
Back to my bra. Did I
put on a bra from the laundry basket?
What is that stench? Do I smell
that bad? Holy shit, I can smell Beirut
from here. Oh hold please…. Self
check. It’s not me. It’s the big girl next to me who looks as if
she’s taking her last breath and sweating out beer and Jaegermeister from three
nights ago. For a second there I figured
you thought that rift was coming from me.
Wait, what if you do think it is
me who smells like a pig’s dung hole?
And while I keep trying to catch your glance in the mirror I
happen to look over at you while you drink out of your water bottle (all in
stride). Is that a wedding ring I see?
Shite.
Game over.
Too bad because my love for you could have been magical.
Kind Regards,
This Old Hag In Shitty Gym Clothes
Heeheeheehee you CRACK ME UP! I never hunted boys at the gym cause I always look like a trainwreck. I work out in big t-shirts, my hair in a frizzy bun, and no makeup . . . which seems obvious to me, but then I see girls in cute outfits with brushed hair and makeup on at the gym. WHAT? Anyway, I'm probably not making sense b/c I'm not even halfway done with my first cup of coffee. I'm with you re: planes. A friend of mine met her husband on a plane!
ReplyDeleteThis is hilarious! And I don't get the looking cute at the gym either. I always say I don't want to spend a lot of workout gear because I just sweat so much and stink it up. But really, I laughed out loud at this.
ReplyDeleteThe hot ones are always married. Sigh.
ReplyDeleteAhhhh- thanks so much for the giigle:)
ReplyDeleteThis made me more than laugh out loud! I had to stop and make sure I hadn't written this?? I just had the same experience (at a restaurant, but I should be going to a gym!!). Alas he was sitting at a weird angle, I couldn't see a ring. Shite indeed.
ReplyDeleteGlad it made you laugh. Now if only I could eye the hot boys at the gym who are single...but only after I get myself back into shape!
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