While I can attract a man, I cannot seem to hold their interest for very long. I wish I could blame this entirely on my HIV status. Alas, I cannot. Sometimes my status does play a large factor and other times it’s my ability to make a complete ass out of myself in the most mundane situations. I have the verbal filter of a 5 year old and I am as clumsy as baby seal on stilts. These faults can lead me into some dangerously hilarious situations, especially when they happen at the same time.
There is this trainer at my gym that I have a mini crush on. I don’t know why? I have tried to stay away from trainers or other sportsman. Even though they tend to be rather pretty (ok, insanely hot), they aren’t really working with a full deck of cards. My ex, the swimmer, once asked me what the word cutlery meant. He said I was trying to sound uppity by using that particular word. Ummm no, how else would you describe eating utensils, you douche bag (I’m not bitter). Also, there once was this trainer in Philadelphia who was exceptionally attractive and very sweet, but when he asked me if I like a particular movie and I said I was ambivalent about it, he cocked his head like a cute little puppy and said “What does ambivalent mean?” That is when I decided on no more sporty vapid guys, well maybe just not for dating. Ever since the first day I saw the trainer at my new gym, he smiled, said hi and even flashed his blue eyes in such a way that the illumination from the fluorescent lights made them sparkle. You know what that does for me. Maybe one more exception.
Propelled by the fact that it will be swimsuit season very soon, I decided to amp up my gym work out. On the first day of my new leg routine, I wanted to try other exercises that I haven’t done in a while. I opted for the glute machine. Now, I tend to stay away from this machine and not because my rear is pert and blessed with the good PR butt genes. No, because of the vulnerable position this machine places you in, in front of the entire gym. No exhibitionist am I. To use this machine you must get on all fours with your ass in the air lifting one leg behind you at a time. I am sorry but I save that for the bedroom. Because of the impending beach days, I thought it might be best to work on those muscles.
As soon as I reached the glute machine I noticed my hottie trainer sitting on a bench fairly close to me doing some paper work. Maybe it was the thought of him or maybe it was because I had a mini stroke that made me lose all concentration, I don’t know. When I tried to lift my leg behind me, my foot slipped off and the weights came crashing down. The sound echoed throughout the gym. The hottie looked up at me and I turned beet red. I tried to do shrugg it off and I started the exercise again. Crash! My foot slipped off again and there went the weights. I hung my head in shame. The hottie not up and said “Are you ok?” The only thing that I could muster to say was “My shoes are slippery.” In knowing disbelief he responded “Ok…”
I was mortified.
After I muttered that phrase, it kept playing on a loop in my mind. All of a sudden an image of Julia Roberts flinging a snail across the room in Pretty Woman saying “Slippery Little Suckers.” Sometime I hate the connections my brain concocts. I started laughing and I couldn’t stop. I laughed the entire way through mastering the art of the glute machine. I must have looked like a complete fool.
While my gluteus maximus has never look better, ever since the glute machinegate, the hottie trainer never looks at me, never smiles and never flashes me those baby blues. The tables have turned. He now thinks I am one of those vapid gym boys. Ugh!