I narrowly avoid arrest last week, and even still, I fear that I may never be able to run for public office. Because I? Am an accidental sex scandal waiting to happen.
You see, my friend Tina and I started working out together in my apartment complex gym. I use the term “gym” loosely because there are eight cardio machines and one of those all-in-one nautilus units that can only accommodate one person at a time. No balls, no bands, no free weights. But there are TVs that get 6 channels, so I think I’m supposed to be grateful, but I’m really just irritated. But I digress…
In the absence of any decent resistance exercise equipment, I tried my hand (foot?) at jogging on one of the treadmills. I used to be a middle distance runner on the track team, so it should have been just another lap around the old football field. Only that was over a decade ago, and one overflowing cup size. The reality of the situation in a D+ cup size is that I spent one full lap around a theoretical track groping my own chest to stop my chesticles from bouncing. I have never been so happy for solitude in my life, because if there had been other people there, I would have gone to jail for public indecency and this story would have been way less funny… to me. Needless to say, I shelled out an unholy sum of money to get a sports bra which promises to support boobs with their own gravitational pull. I’ll keep you all abreast of that situation. (Hey-o!)
I also spent good money on a TRX suspension trainer not too long ago which would meet my need for resistance training, but I was never able to use it in our old apartment because of the height of the ceilings. The new place, however, is another story, so I went off to the local home improvement labyrinth at lunch to procure an anchor, super heavy-duty bolts, and a stud finder.
*In case anyone was wondering, I myself am not studly, but apparently my nipples are.
Unfortunately, the layout of this particular home improvement warehouse is ridiculously counter-intuitive and makes me want to punt babies. (Seriously, who puts camping gear next to bath fixtures and Christmas decorations next to power tools, regardless of the season?!?) So after wandering aimlessly for 15 minutes and not turning up any hardware, I swore brilliantly, sucked it up, and found an employee who looked significantly older and far less stoned than the rest of them. And then he promptly made me rethink my position on age discrimination.
“Hi! I need to find lag screws and anchor points.”
*Looks me up and down and rolls his eyes* “Those are over in hardware.”
“Yeah, I figured as much. Now let’s pretend that I don’t find your store heinously tacky and unorganized. Where would hardware be located?”
“*grumble* This way.”
So he walked me to the ass end of the store by the garden center, gestured vaguely at a couple of aisles, and shuffled away, probably to grumble about damn women in his store or something. I poked around for a few minutes and found something that I was sure would work for my purposes, if not as load bearing as I’d hoped for. He happened to amble by my aisle again, clearly avoiding my gaze, but unfortunately for him, I was in tennis shoes and not above running.
I held up the anchor ring. “Do you have anything else like this that would support more than 400 pounds?”
“400 pounds is already a lot. What would you need more than that for?”
“I need to suspend something from a ceiling joist, and while 400 pounds would work, it’s always nice to have the option to do more later.”
“Well, I don’t know how much you know about studs and hardware and the like*, but as long as you can find a ceiling joist or a stud and mount it there, 400 pounds should be more than enough for a plant basket or something.”
*I had to fight really hard against the urge to scan him with the stud finder and say “Doesn’t look like you know much about studs either, dick.”
“Not a plant basket, but I’ll take that under advisement.”
“Well, what’s heavier than a plant basket that you want to hang from the ceiling?”
“Me, for starters.”
“You? That’s not a good idea if you don’t know what you’re doing.”
I get what you’re telling me, gramps. Challenge accepted.
“Oh, a plan will come together. Sometimes, a gal’s just gotta swing.”
“Yeah, you know- a sex swing? I mean, between me and my husband, we’re under 400 pounds, but things get rowdy and sometimes there’s a lot more than 400 pounds of force, if ya knowwhadimean! But I’ll do my best with this. Thanks!”
And I left him pale and contemplating whether he should have a hard on or a heart attack. I sincerely hope it was the latter caused by the former. Dick.
But a few minutes after that, I happened to run into our maintenance guy holding a handful of hinges and muttering something about stupid kids and stopped to talk to him for a minute. While I was talking to him, my favorite hardware guy came over to give him a part and stopped short when he saw me.
*To maintenance guy* “Is this your wife?!”
Maintenance guy: *Shakes head so hard it looks like epilepsy*
To my future constituents that will never be: sorry, guys. I think we can all agree that this just wouldn’t work out.
To everyone else: What’s the most outlandish thing you’ve ever said to make someone uncomfortable, whether they deserved it or not?