Beef Stew or Sour Grapes

No, that isn't anyone I know>>>>

I missed out on a few months of going to the gym (darn) due to foot surgery. I was packing on the pounds and knew that either I was going to have to give up the things in life that I love (food and beer) or eventually head back to the gym in order to fit in to my (fat) clothes. As luck would have it, my gal pal said she wanted to try water aerobics at the same gym. Perfect. I would have a workout buddy and a slow re-introduction to the gym.

First things first…which of my swimsuits make me look the least fat? Lord knows I have a crap load of them. Do I wear sweats over my suit or change there? Good Gawd, there are going to be little old ladies there, and then me. Why do I even care?

The first few sessions were a rude awakening to how much time I spent at Hooters with Mike. I was huffing and puffing in the WATER! How embarrassing. All things considered, I felt I was making progress and actually doing some good. I’m not the youngest in the class, not the oldest. I’m not the thinnest by any means, but I am there with “my people” sweating to the splashin’. There are even guys taking the class so there has to be some physical benefit to it. I mean why else would they be there?

There are two instructors, depending on the day. Karla is personable, remembers everyone’s name and always has a smile. She likes to get the participants involved in the count downs and is light hearted as we whimper and gulp down water when we mis-step in the pool. Stephanie (?) is a young mother who obviously was a member of a Nazi training party in a former life. Her work outs are done with precision and to the second. Her trained eye is always on the clock as she audibly counts down each repetition.

So last night I squeezed myself into a suit that I picked up on sale somewhere on-line. I remember the description said something like “the array of colors dash diagonally from the waist drawing the eye to a tummy slimming effect”. Who the heck wouldn’t buy that suit!? Well, the moths or Texas humidity must have “shrunk” the suit a tad. I was feeling like the proverbial 10 pounds of potatoes in a 5 pound sack. And that was with the hidden tummy tucking panel. (Yeah, right.)

So there we were, with our noodles and water dumbbells. There was about 20 or so of us ranging in age from 30-something to a gal that somewhat resembled a raisin. I have no idea how old she was but she kept up! As we progressed through the workout a “Janie-Come-Lately” showed up and in the SAME suit I had on. Sweet Baby Jesus, what exactly is the protocol for such an occasion? Is this something for the Fashion Police? Do I squat down in the water and hope no one notices? Then it hits me, no one remotely cares. My catty-ness swells to the surface when I decide my “10 pounds of potatoes in a 5 pound sack” look still looks better. And her “array of colors” weren’t dashing. They were screaming.

So the class was half over and we were participating in a resistance activity called the “whirlpool”. (Before you ask, it’s not an aquatic dutch-oven.) Basically we take a “noodle” and twist it in a knot, you then push and pull the noodle under the surface of the water while the class walks in a circle forcing the water into a torrent resembling a whirlpool. Then I hear one of the ladies let out a yip of surprise. I look up in front of me and one of the guys ran his floaty into the back of a gal. He apologized and she responded that it was her fault, it was her 60th birthday and she was just day dreaming. Coyly he then asks what she was going to do for her birthday and she blushed. OMG…It was a geriatric meat market! I reminded him to keep his noodle to himself!

Wait. Was I supposed to be grossed out or jealous…

Introduction

Since the dawn of people, they have been chronicling their lives in the sand, sides of caves, stone tablets, books and electronically. I've not been one of them...until now. I thought I would give it a try. I apologize up front if I inadvertently offend anyone. Feel free to drop me a line if I have my facts wrong or if you have a differing opinion.

I've always envied people that could spin a yarn. Telling humorous stories to the point the listener can't tell if the story is fact or fiction is truly a gift.

Over the years I listened to my dad tell countless narratives of his work, who he saw or ran into, or of a time from his youth. Just when he was nearing the end of the story (or punch line) he would throw in a "but you remember so-and-so" and the story took a different path. It was frustrating but it was part of the package.

For several years I worked for a great organization who was building itself up from the ground up. The VP of the department had a great gift of make analogies of a situation to make his point. He had great heart, compassion, a sharp mind but lacked a sense of time. As he would express himself, he would get a little crooked grin and start on a side story. The side story always had something to do with the end result but it generally took a long time getting there, a trait we coined "a rabbit trail".

I don't know about you, but in my collection of friends I can pick out the truly gifted story tellers. One such character only has one volume and its ON. He can take any situation and find humor. Gawd I love that! He draws an audience like moths to a flame. As the story builds and builds you are sucked in hooked line and sinker he drops his signature line, "long story, longer". You are putty in his hands.

So all this said, I trust my rantings will not bore you. I will try to stay on topic but sometimes you just have to tell a different story to tell THE story. Stay tuned for my version of life with my friends, family, trips and ....
...but I digress