I have been searching through my old drafts of the blog to see what is still relevant and – well?
None of them freaking are…
Why am I looking through old drafts, you ask? Well, it’s simple, I typically will jot down blog thoughts that eventually turn into these hilarious posts that you all enjoy. But sometimes, it doesn’t always work out. Add to that the fact that my frame of mind when I jotted – said ideas – down, are not my mindset now. So, essentially, they get lost in translation because of time. And my brain changing its mind over time. And for thus, tossed in the trash.
Especially when there is plenty of content right in front of my face.
Or rather, my nose space.
Speaking of working out…
That was a leap… Yes, completely unrelated at all. But stay with me here…
The gym is a great place to go. I love it, I hit that place twice a day. Pretty much every gym I’ve ever been to has been great and I have no complaints. Except, maybe today….
Oh! Not about the gym.
Over the weekend my fiancé and I hit the gym. Now, the gym we go to now is small and quaint. And best of all usually fairly quiet. Even when there are other guests there working out. Everyone has – for the most part – decent gym etiquette .
I’m going to feel a little bad about this rant. No you won’t.
And if you were there you’d be horrified too. Okay I’m listening…
Upon entering the gym, there was an – um… aroma? – yeah, you can call it that; but you’d be wrong. When you think of the word, aroma, you usually equate that to a nice smell. An inviting scent. Like, baked cookies or a whiff of a soft perfume. That chokes you in the breezeways. Quiet.
The student becomes the teacher…
Stop right there before you go nuts over the smell of banana bread. OR any other pleasant anecdotes of awesome essence of food.
The smell coming off of this other gym guest was horrifying. Uh oh.
If you are older, and you live alone, and you think you don’t smell – and I’m not knocking my elders here – AND its been probably days since you showered? You freaking smell dude. Here she goes. What sucks right, is that this person is so such a sweet guy but God Almighty, could someone let him know that using a shower won’t bite! Hell! Even my grandmother, who is losing her mind in a nursing home, gets bathed daily by someone because she cannot do it herself.
I hop on the treadmill anyway after saying hello and I just want to die. Dramatic much? Yes. Or jump off the treadmill and change my plans for a later date. Probably a more conservative approach. The smell in the air was so terrible that my nose itched and I kept sneezing and literally made made my stomach turn.
Again, I’m so NOT trying to be a meanie head.
Hygiene is a basic skill set, people!!
What if we all stopped freaking showering?! OMG. The filth that would ensue. The diseases! People would be catching Leprosy! What’s that? Some ancient disease from the beginning of time. What time was that now? I don’t know. When mummies were a thing or something like that. Great research job there. Eh. *shrugs, you get what I mean.
Your skin falls off!
If you are an elder, you should already know this. The cleanliness thing, that is. Not necessarily about Leprosy. I don’t think anyone in our day and age has heard of or known anyone who’s skin fell off right in front of their eyes.
Did you give up on life already?
Oh wait, no… that can’t be it. Why?
Uh, because you’ve rallied your pig-pen ass all the way to the gym for a workout! So, from where I’m smelling, you have the wear-with-all to scrub a dub-dub in the damn tub!
THERE ARE SHOWERS AT THE GYM FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE!!
Oh and that’s not the end of it….
While being less of a horrible reek; the nightmare continued beyond my scope of blurred vision from the clouds of dirt surrounding me.
MEANWHILE: IN ANOTHER ROOM, NOT SO FAR, FAR AWAY…
My fiancé was doing the stair climber, and afterward was telling me a story of how he was horrified by an old lady smacking her deriere! Just so you have a visual, the stair climber is in the aerobics room. It’s a small gym, as I mentioned. So, if old ladies want to do Zumba. They plop on a video tape (or CD? I don’t know – I’m starting to think I’m in some time warp vortex), and dance around, following along with the woman in M.C. Hammer pants leading the class on the video.
Why the low crotch pants? I don’t no; but I was given an unlikely description that this is what women with non-clean, uh, carpets (a.k.a. vajay-jays) who put off an unpleasant stench and this baggy crotch pant is a remedy to that. Oh geez. Well, you asked…
Well, wait, was that supposed to be a solution to a bigger problem? What kind of solution is that?
I have no freaking idea.
Go to the gynocologist!
Couldn’t agree more.
Pay attention. I can’t now. Seriously, iIs it just me?
Because that was the first time I’d EVER heard of THAT reason to wear such an ugly style, of said, trendy pant.
I don’t even want to think about someone’s smelly hoohaw, thank you very much for that visual burned into my mind’s eye.
Circling back, so also during the class, that stinky twat video aerobics instruction, includes slapping your own arse in front of strangers.
At least your booty-smacking old lady didn’t smell like a garbage disposal.