This post is the first entry of what I’m currently calling “You can’t make this shit up”.
Every day August is in preschool from 1pm – 4pm. That is three blissful hours all to myself. Because we did not own a car last year, it was easier to stay in the neighborhood then to go home and come back again. Hence the beginning of my journey with a nearby gym. (To protect the innocent, and my membership, I will not name my gym for fear they may kick me out. ) Although we recently purchased a car, (that’s right people, after seven or so years without a car in San Francisco we finally caved and bought one in October) I have become so addicted to the gym that I continue to go at least four days a week. Monday through Friday (excluding Wednesdays) I am at my gym between the hours of 1:20pm and about 3:30pm. These are what one might call the “off hours”. Typically this means that the gym is less crowded during these hours, however, in my case it ALSO means that the crowd is, well, let’s just say, atypical. The average age in the locker room during the above mentioned hours is what I would guess to be sixty years old. The average age continues to entertain me everyday, some more than others.
And so concludes my introduction to “You can’t make this shit up”. Some entries will be dialogue, and some will be mere observations. I hope to have MANY “You can’t make this shit up” entries for you in the future, but for now I have just two. And I hope you enjoy them as much as I have.
February 20, 2014, 2:43pm
“Achoo,” I sneezed while putting on my boots one day in the gym locker room.
“Bless you, ” said the woman dressing the the right of me.
The woman two aisles over to the left said, “Bless you, you must own a cat.”
I giggled of course, but then I could tell she was serious and waiting for a response, “Umm, nope, no cat.”
“Oh, must be a dog then,” she replied. At this point I’m thinking she thinks I have an allergy.
“Nope, no dog either.”
“Oh my. I hope you have a boyfriend or a husband at least,” she said expressing concern for my sad life.
“This is getting awfully personal for a sneeze,” the woman to my right said expressing her concern for this discussion.
I took a little longer than everyone was comfortable with to reply to her question. I mostly hesitated because I wasn’t sure I wanted to share my life with these ladies, and I was curious whether I could get away with no answer. I couldn’t.
“I have a husband and a four-year-old son,” I proudly responded. Although I thought about saying I had no one just to see her reaction.
“Oh well, that’s good. I hope you have a lover too. I didn’t get to be seventy-nine years old, and this happy with just a husband,” she stated much to my surprise.
You can’t make this shit up!
March 3, 2014, 3:03pm
Usually I try to keep my head down as much as possible for fear I might turn to glass if I look up too often. However, for a brief, although not brief enough, moment I looked up while putting lotion on my face. Two aisles over to my left, a woman about seventy years old was brushing her entire body with a hairbrush. I do mean entire. She left no stone unturned. I should have stopped watching after the first glance, but I had to see where she was going with this. I wish I hadn’t. Although it did leave me wondering, “Is this some way of achieving a younger looking body? Maybe this is similar to how Marcia Brady brushed her hair 100 times every day?”
You can’t make this shit up!