Wednesday, January 19, 2011

A Chuckle at Sara's Expense


It is rather fortunate that I have always held to the idea that if you can't laugh at yourself you're just out of luck...because someone else will be doing it for sure.  Last night I had a marvelous opportunity to laugh at myself in the company of my entire Zumba class.  Care to join in?

There is a spot on the Curves circuit which positions you smack in front of a glass exterior door.  I'm sure the purveyor would try to tell you that it is tinted, mirrored glass & thus privacy is maintained as you move your way around the circuit.  The rest of the windows are nicely & opaquely frosted, but despite tints & mirrors, the door remains a nice window to the booty shaking, grimacing fun on the other side.

I have accepted the door a a necessary evil.  I understand that it is there & likely there are people on the oher side that are pointing & laughing.  As long as I don't see it happening, it's fine. 

There I was, smack in front of said door.  Imagine my mortification when, in the middle of a particularly epic display of jiggly parts, I found myself not only aware of the presence of an observer, but making eye contact with him.  I am fairly certain that Mr. Observer was all of 20 years old & was likely a server, bartender or other employee of the new Mexican restaraunt next door.  Not only did I make eye contact, I was physically incapable of averting my eyes & maintained the gaze long enough to see his most smart-a** grin & snicker.  Not that I blame him.  I've driven past similarly exposed work-out places & laughed openly at the raucus rumps emblazoned in a bright room against a night sky.  But I certainly don't make eye contact with the owners of said rumps. 

When the instructor finally called for us to turn (in reality all of 10 seconds, but it felt like hours), I had flushed to match my bright pink top & let out a yelp "I just made eye contact with a man outside."  More laughter at Sara's expense & jokes about finding him after class to make him buy me a margarita.  It's the least he could do.

*sigh*  I suppose I should just focus on the silver lining: I will NEVER feel compelled to go into Viva La Bamba & make bad dietary choices...I'd rather die than show my face (or anything else) in there.  In fact, I'll probably have to swear off Monterrey & El Rodeo, too.  Mr. Observer surely has friends, & I know if I were him I'd be laughing & telling this story to anyone who would listen.

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