Five Foot Rule

I went to the gym for the first time since October last night.  Since I was last there, offices have been built, personnel has changed, new rules have been added.  I was just relieved my membership card still worked.

I was on the elliptical, a bit more out of breath than usual but otherwise killing it considering I’ve been AWOL for months.  I was wearing my new headphones and enjoying some really kick ass music I added to my workout playlist, eyes glued to ESPN, as per usual.  A guy walked by, went out of his way to make eye contact with me, then motioned that he liked my hair.  I gave him a thumbs up and hopefully didn’t shout “thank you.”

I’ve gained at least 30 pounds since last fall and it shows but that one compliment had me thinking all the following throughout my 40 minute workout:

Guuuuurl, 30 pounds heavier and I’ve still got it.  It IS all about that bass.

Maybe E shouldn’t leave me alone on the back row to work out by myself.  Next time, he should carry me in like a caveman, set me down on the elliptical, pound his chest, and yell “Girl mine!”

Damn it, I forgot to wear my wedding ring.  How irresponsible.  Every man in here has noticed my lack of a ring by now.  There could be a feeding frenzy.  Innocent men could become so distracted, they get thrown violently from their treadmills and possibly maimed or killed and I have no one to blame but myself.  Get it together, Steph!

I didn’t even wear makeup today.  I’m a Sephora VIB Rouge member and I don’t even need all that shit.  Think of all the money and time I’ll save by not wearing makeup!

Wait a minute!  There’s that guy who hit on me, over by the weights.  He’s a trainer here.  Guess he’d better get his crush in check because he’ll be seeing a lot of me now that I’m working out again.  It’s gonna be hard on him.  I’ll try to dial it back but that’s like asking the sun to stop shining.

I wonder if any local stores stock graphic tees with “Sorry, I’m taken” on the front?  That would save a lot of time and heartache for these poor bastards.

Oooh, I should post about this on Facebook.  Wait, no.  I shouldn’t flaunt my natural beauty.  Cindy Crawford doesn’t do it and neither should I.  Don’t be that girl.

Oh, thank God.  Here comes E, he’s done with his workout.  I can get out of this meat market now.

As E handed me a wipe for my elliptical, he said “There’s a new sign posted above the wipe dispenser that just reads “Five Foot Rule.  Do you know what that is?”

I replied that I didn’t know but I’d Google it on the way home.  I threw my jacket on and quickly explained that I was the hunted, my pheromones were obviously out of control and it’d be wise to get me out of there PDQ before something unfortunate happened.  I sprinted toward the exit, alert and ready to dropkick rabid, love crazed male suitors as soon as they approached.  No means no, damn it!

E let me walk out alone in a dark parking lot because he couldn’t wait for Google to explain the Five Foot Rule.  He stopped by the front desk to ask an employee what it meant.

I didn’t relax until I was safely strapped into the truck with my seat belt.  I allowed E to get into the driver’s seat only after I carefully checked the perimeter and unlocked the door.  I asked him what the Five Foot Rule meant.  He initially refused to tell me and instructed me to ask Google, since I didn’t care enough to stick around inside for an answer.

He eventually caved to my whining womanly wiles and told me what the Five Foot Rule meant:

Every gym employee must speak to you if they are within 5 feet of you.

Mother fucker.

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