I pay about $2.50 a week to work out in the gym in my office’s basement. The place is a lot nicer then it sounds, but that’s beside the point. So there’s this new girl that works downstairs in the gym; she’s about my age and she’s real cute. I have been talking to her over the last few days, and I think I’m making some progress, and was thinking about asking her to accompany to the tre chic Joe’s Crab Shack for some drinks some time this week.
On Tuesday and Thursday, we have the ab workout class at 6:30. We get a couple people in there, and Cute Girl is teaching the class. The radio isn’t working for some odd reason, so she brings in a tape and fiddles with the tape player a while trying to get it to work, ultimately unsuccessful, and we go on without music.
A few co-workers and I are getting into the ab workout. Crunches, leg lifts . . . the entire workout usually lasts about fifteen minutes and it’s an ass kicker. Now let me tell you something else relating to ass. When you let one go in an acoustically perfect aerobics room with three other people and no music playing, you can pretty much figure out who ripped it.
That’s right; it was me. Now my face was about as red as it gets from the exertion from the workout, but I swear it became more red when a second after the fact (or some other four letter “F” word) the cute girl said, “Boy. Sure would be nice to have some music in here . . .”
