Southern Exposure

Markus and I workout about 3-4 times a week. I have to go before 2pm because after 2pm, the beautiful people show up with the butt floss and fantastic bods. It gets really crowded and becomes something of a meat market. I work out in an old tee shirt and baggy sweats that are even baggier since I’ve lost weight. I am the antithesis to the 3pm and after group. Well, last week we skipped the morning workout. By 6 pm, Markus was jonesing for a little muscular torture. I figured it was so late, everyone would pretty much be gone, so I agreed to go.

Lord Almighty, it was busy. Butt floss and heavily made-up faces everywhere. Men in silver and gold chains on top of the shirt with the arms cut off. Women with more jewllery and make-up caked faces.

I’ve never understood the make-up thing at the gym. Aren’t you supposed to be sweaty and yukky? Isn’t that the point? German make-up is not as thick as Texas, but just as wretched. Not so much foundation because tanning booths abound and everyone has that baked brown crispyness.

Anyway,I had to wait for circuit training machines. I was waiting for the lat pull down when I spied the same machine in the free weights section. And better yet, Markus was using it. So I picked up my water bottle, towel and headphones and walked purposefully towards the other side of the room.

As I passed the calf raiser, my pant leg caught on the mid-thigh level rubber non-slip handle. Immediately my pants are pulled to my knees. They don’t rip, they fall. As do I. And with the momentum of my purposeful stride, I can’t stop until its too late. I grabbed at my sweats and at nearby machines trying to pull myself and my pants up, but was no use. The more I struggled, the lower my pants fell. Two nice gentlemen tried to help me, but I was so mortified. It was that manic “I’m-okay-Thanks” look that kept them at a distance.

Finally, after giving in to gravity, I fell down completely, thighs and stomach and panties exposed in the middle of the circuit circle. Several seconds of tugging and I removed the snag on the machine. I pulled myself up as gracefully as I could, smiled and walked carefully away.

Now, I had only two options. I could retreat to the locker room, dress and go home. Or I could smile and continue my workout, pretending that my self pants-ing was a minor inconvenience and no one really noticed.

Stupidly, I decide on the latter. Markus was still on the machine I originally wanted. He was the only person in the gym who hadn’t seen the debacle. I looked over to the area of my misfortune, still smiling the Grace-Kelly-you-can’t-touch-me smile. People were staring and pointing and talking. I continued to wear the smile which had become more loon than princess. There was nothing else I could do.

This is my most embarrassing moment throughout a lifetime of memorable embarrassing moments. This out did the panties on California street, out did the locksmith incident, out embarrassed every other moment. The Japanese tourists incident was even funny at the time. This was not funny. I mean, yes, its funny, but it took me several days to find an ounce of humor in it.

At some point I begin to wonder if maybe the universe wants me to be an exhibitionist. I keep fighting it, but the universe continues to expose my bottom.


One thought on “Southern Exposure

  1. Oh wow…you have just described my worst nightmare. I am incredibly unaware of my body. I mean, I’m aware that it exists and I can usually make it do what I want but often, it seems to stick out an inch or two farther than i thought. My butt is usually the culprit; knocking things off end tables, bowling small children over, bashing sitting people upside the head…you get the idea.

    Thank you for sharing your most embarrassing (every notice how it’s “M-bare-assing?” Might be something to that.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s