As if my BodyPump instructor, Just Jack, wasn't gay enough- today's class definitely sealed the deal for switch hitting for the opposite team. As always, I was running late for class. You have to arrive 15 minutes early, or you get stuck in front of the weight bench, or scrunched in the corner, and I spend the entire class agonizing over my lame-o position.
This morning was rough. We were running late- basically because a moronic Congress can't get their ass in gear and vote to STOP this craziness that is called Daylight Savings Time. It screws with kids. It really screws with Moms. And it really makes you late for Body Pump class. I grabbed my kids, grabbed my shoes and grabbed a couple of Tampax and stuffed them in the pockets of my black exercise pants- fully intending to transfer them to my purse when I get in the car.
I jet off to the gym- drop the kids off at KidsClub, and settle myself into a nice, prime spot in the middle of the floor. We start our warmup- and I'm giving it my all. I'm lunging, I'm lifting- I'm feeling good! Until I notice the girl next to me shooting me a funny look. Apparently, in my enthusiasm, I forgot to notice the stray Tampax falling out of my pockets and laying like little white war soldiers all over my mat. Blushing, I skip out on the "Car Wash" tricep torture to drop my little soldiers in the trash. As I walk back to my spot, I happen to glance in the mirror.
The zit? The one I told you about this morning? Well, apparently all of my exertion caused the pimple to pop all over again, and I've got ick squirting out of it like toothpaste. I am, truly, a sight to behold.
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