Tuesday, January 4, 2011

I feel used.

Picture this. I'm at the gym and there are approximately 20-30 elliptical machines to chose from. It's mid morning on a Tuesday so I practically have the entire fucking gym to myself. I chose my machine and start going at it. Then this girl, we'll call her "cupcake" comes in and starts looking around. There are dozens of machines to chose from. She chooses the one right next to me.

At this point I feel as if I should mention I believe there to exist an unspoken agreement amongst most gym goers. It's kind of like when you go to a public restroom and there are 15 open stalls and then someone choses the stall right next to yours. It's just uncalled for, really. Why you gotta be all up in my business?

So there I am sweating away and looking quite attractive as my December indulgences come back to haunt me. Cupcake, it appears, has chosen to work out next to me to make herself look more attractive to the menfolk. It works and a man who I shall call Beefcake comes up and starts chatting with her. For 30 fucking minutes I'm sweating my ass off and grunting and breathing heavy and these assholes are flirting and making a date for the weekend. Really? I needed to witness the mating ritual between Cupcake and Beefcake?

Eventually they walked away and went out into the parking lot to "exchange phone numbers" whatever-the-hell that might be code for. The only logical explanation I can think of though is that Cupcake really wanted to look her best and used me to juxtapose her botoxed perfection.

I'm just going to take this as a compliment, I've decided. I am a fucking aphrodisiac and I sweat sexual pheromones. Clearly, that's what happened.