You know how I’ve been telling you how I’ve been making myself go back to the gym? Well, yesterday I found out how dangerous going to the gym can be.
My child that wishes to remain anonymous and I were working out, and there was a girl in her early twenties working out right around us. She was wearing a baggy t-shirt, shorts, and her hair was pulled up.
After a few minutes a cute guy in his early twenties came and started working out close to where we were. The girl suddenly left.
Five minutes later, she was back but her hair was pulled down, she had lip gloss on, smelled heavily of perfume, and her t-shirt was tied up so that her midriff was exposed.
I tried not to smile as I saw her trying to make eye contact with him. She kept walking by him very slowly and even stopped right in front of him to tie her shoe.
He couldn’t have been more oblivious of her. He just kept staring straight ahead at the TV.
So she got on the treadmill two machines down from him. She started jogging, every 10 seconds, or so she would look over at him.
Him, not so much. (I’m starting to get a little distracted, yet amused, by her persistence.)
So then, she started going faster. I think she thought if she got her machine going loud enough he would notice her.
She kept taking it up a notch, and it wasn’t long before she seemed like she was struggling to keep up.
After a few more clicks, I started getting worried for her.
Then it happened.
I knew it was coming, but it was like a car wreck you just couldn’t look away. She was huffing and puffing, and then she turned to look at him, lost her balance (since her machine was going 50 miles an hour at that point), and WHAM!
She was catapulted off that treadmill, and shot into the wall with a shriek, where she slid down into a puddle on the floor.
The unnamed child and I went running over to her and after we saw that she wasn’t horribly wounded, had a hard time not laughing at this poor girl’s stupidity.
She just laid there. Her shoe literally had been knocked off her foot, her nicely brushed hair was sticking to her face, her headphones dangled from the control panel, she had treadmill/road rash all over her body, and I think the treadmill may have been wearing lip gloss.
We asked if she was all right.
“I. Am. So. Humiliated.” she said. “Is that guy over there looking at me?”
“Um, yes he is,” I said (I think everyone else was too).
“Now he looks…” she said.
The child said, “Well, you were pretty loud”.
“Ugh!” she said.
So we helped her find her shoe, and helped her hobble her way down the stairs. I felt for that poor girl. Now I may have to worry about being the suckiest person in pilates class, but that embarrassment isn’t anywhere close to hers.
So once the child and I got to the car and had a good laugh about the scenario, I asked her what she learned from this. She said “Never flirt with a guy that’s watching TV.”
Yes my dear that never changes.
Speaking of changes, this grey dresser I did for my sister-in-law had some major ones. I filled in some dents and holes with wood putty, painted it with chalkpaint, distressed it, and waxed it. Presto chango … and here she is!