Wednesday, July 09, 2008

Loose Baggage.

I'm not normally one to complain about breasts, but here goes.

There's this lady at the gym who works out at around the same time as I do. She's not the prettiest thing in the world, but she's no behemoth, either. I admire her dedication and the fact that she is trying to improve herself.

The problem is her breasts.

I don't think she's ever heard of a sports bra - or a bra at all for that matter. It's distracting - but not in the oh-my-god-look-at-those-things-move way. It's more like is-she-flipping-flapjacks-under-there? way, which isn't attractive at all.

I'd be willing to mention it to her, but then I'd get the "Stop looking at my breasts" comment, when all I want is for her to settle them down so that they don't accidentally flap out and I throw up mid-rep. I'm saving her dignity and my breakfast.

It's not like it happens all the time. If she ran on the regular treadmills like everyone else, I wouldn't even notice when I'm on the weights side of the gym. It's just that she runs on the extra treadmills, which are located in full view of the weight area. (You can't even look away - it's a gym, after all- there's mirrors everywhere. It's like a hall of mirrors horror show.)

I'm hoping that she'll eventually break down and go the sports bra route. I'm amazed that she hasn't had a black eye or at least felt some level of discomfort from all the movement happening under there.

Until then, I'll be the guy who either stares intently at himself in the mirror all the time, or the one who works out with his eyes closed. (I'll need a spotter for that last one.)


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