Thursday, 18 November 2010

Just Call Me Bubbles Dahling....

I am always in the gym.  When I am not at home or work or shopping, I am in the gym.  I walk up the steepest of hills and run fast.  I work on my abdominals (well on locating them anyway) and I row.  Then I climb on board a strange machine that simulates a skiing motion and I do a weird dance for ten minutes – weirder if I can get Kiss FM on the radio.  Then, every friday, and no other day of the week, I change into my swimming costume and I head for the Spa Pool.

Some weeks ago I found myself in the Spa Pool, alone or so I thought.  Somewhat bored I began a game with myself.  The challenge was to stay on my feet in the onslaught of the bubbles of the powerful jacuzzi jets.  Now, whatever kind of hobbies or pastimes you have, let me tell you this is quite a good game.  It uses calories, stamina and its lots of fun.  It is also slightly, well ever so slightly erotic.  All those bubbles you see…the bashing of bubbles on yer bits…if you get me.  Anyway, happily I frolicked in the bubbles for quite some while until I turned around and…oops, laying hippo-like (ie still in the water with only the top of his head on view) was….The Man.  He was looking…no not looking; he was viewing me and his gaze never faltered.   I held it together pretty well I must say.  In a nano second my brain sent the message “slowly, calmly, with no embarrassment whatsoever…GET OUT OF THE POOL! ”
Since then, I see him often in the gym.  Mostly the back of him actually.  As I row my way to nowhere I am often free to peruse the back views of the runners on the row of treadmills ahead of me.   He runs.  He is not a lithe, lean athletic runner but he runs.  He has a bald spot coming and some well defined lats.  From the front he has a very broken nose.  

Well, he and me, we look, we look away, we get caught looking and we leave the gym…it is ongoing.
Tonight, at the checkout in Tesco a shout goes up “are these yours love?” and an Old Gal at the back of the queue is holding up my one pound post-it notes. She passes them to Hubby who passes them to someone else who passes them to a little girl about Small Child’s age who passes them to her dad who holds onto them a second longer than he should do which makes me look him in the face and as he puts them in my hand he smirks. Yes it is him…

I have never left Tesco so fast. I was having a bad hair day anyway but then Id got caught in the rain. I was stinky from the gym and I was wearing my too short tracky bottoms that swing round my ankles…why is my life like this?  Why did Paula Jones from school get a nice husband and two kids and a semi in Pinner and I got this?  She would never play in the bubbles by herself. 

I suppose it could have been worse. I had lingered over the Durex Play Massage Oil..Summerfruits flavour.

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