To the woman who spent twenty minutes on the abductor machine at my gym Sunday:
I appreciate that you were enjoying the latest issue of Harper’s Bazaar, even though I stopped reading it myself when they brought in the new Editor-in-Chief, Katherine Betts, I think? (hey! I was right!), and never got back to it even when they replaced Betts with Glenda Bailey (even though I loved Marie Claire under Bailey’s stewardship. Go figure, I’m fickle).
What I don‘t appreciate is that you were sitting on the machine, not working out, which meant no-one else could get on the machine and actually use it for more than just sitting.
I hope your thighs turn into mush. I hate you.
Sincerely,
Megan
*Not the Foxy song; that’s “Gett Off,” anyway.
{ 4 comments… read them below or add one }
Why not just say “excuse me, since you’re not using the machine, could you relocate your lazy thighs somewhere else?” Okay, maybe not exactly that but, you know, a polite “get the hell off that machine, wench” wouldn’t have been out of order
Yup, I should have said that. I am such a wimp. Of course, venting here is no problem, but when it happened? Wimp.
I do my best venting after the fact! And my comeback lines are AWESOME the next day
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