Playing with Boobs on Ab Machine

I’m a big believer in physical (and emotional) health. Call me a masochist if you wish, but I honestly love going to the gym. When I keep a good schedule, I go 3-4 times a week and I try to avoid leaving the gym before putting in at least a solid hour and a half of good work. In the beginning, I huff and puff as I run on the treadmill for a total-body workout. Then, I lift weights to achieve a firmer, more toned body. Next, in my classes with instructors, during the warm up, I push myself hard enough to break a sweat before the “real” workout begins. I’ve been slacking off lately and I haven’t gone as regularly as I usually do. Until yesterday, it had been weeks, perhaps even a month, since I last smelled that familiar scent of a room full of other people’s sweat. When I arrive at the gym yesterday, I show my ID, buy a water, and change into my clothes. I lock up my belongings and grab my towel before heading out to the floor. I’m there for at least 45 minutes before I notice her. (Don’t worry, it’s no one famous.) It’s a tall woman and she’s one of them. They are the only things that I don’t like about the gym. They are the women and men who haven’t been informed that “gym” does not equal “nightclub.” This woman. She’s really decked out and she’s sporting a black spandex halter top with a plunging neckline and matching black pants. Her shoes look as if they haven’t even logged a mile quite yet. Her hair is perfectly coiffed and she’s wearing tons of makeup. She’s here to pick up, not work out. And, you know what? That’s fine. Do your thing girl. But, please. And, I mean plllleeeaasse remember that there are people who actually to go the gym to work out. So when you sit on the ab machine playing with your boobies, those people, us, we get kind of pissed off because it means that we can’t use the machine. Or, when you stand in the front row of an aerobics class, the gym-equivalent of prime real estate, it annoys us. Because, we want to stand there to get a better view of the instructor’s moves and check our form, but you hog up the space for the sole purpose of checking yourself out in the mirror. Who knows, maybe I’m the one who didn’t get the memo because the more that I look around the gym these days, it’s really starting to look more and more like a club. The day they install a disco ball, I’m leaving.