If the Pants Fit...

My husband and I were at the gym recently and as we finished up by doing some stretching, I overheard the conversation of the two guys behind us. Both men were in their fifties, one was rather short and stout with the other being tall and slimy. I tried to block them out since most of the conversation seemed to center around young women who were working out. I could feel myself getting agitated and I tried to ignore them. But then my head decided to turn around and my eyes began giving them the evil glare. My husband was oblivious to all this since he couldn't hear them. I tried to focus on stretching my glutes.

Then tall slimy says, "What's the difference between a girlfriend and a wife?"
Short stout replies, "I don't know."
Tall slimy is yucking it up, so proud of himself he can barely give the punchline, "Oh, about fifty pounds." Both men roar.

I almost have an out of body experience as I turn around to glare stare. I confirm that they are both wearing wedding rings. I am livid. How dare they talk about their wives in such a disrespectful manner? Who do they think they are ~ George Clooney? Brad Pitt? I decide how to best take them on. I must defend married women of the world, women who have sacrificed, gone without, raised children, worked long hours...when I felt my husband tapping my shoulder. "You okay?" he asks, wiping the foam from the corner of my mouth.

"No, not really. Those two sleazebags think they are so funny. I just want to..."
After thirty years of marriage, my husband knows me well and he can tell he had better remove me from the situation at hand, quickly. He walks me to the womens' locker room and asks me what was said. "I'll tell you later," I reply.

I grab my gym bag and head for the showers. Hopefully my blood pressure will settle down. The hot water feels good but I am still disturbed by 'the joke'. I can't stand jokes which are at the expense of other people. I can't stand old married men who think they are some type of stud muffin. They make me gag. I feel a need to put them in their place.

I pull my jeans out of my bag and proceed to put them on, one leg at a time. Hmm...I had better calm down and focus on getting dressed because I seem to have an issue. Both feet are in and I can get these jeans on over my knees but what is going on with my thighs. What the heck? I look at the tag on my jeans and realize I grabbed my 'skinny' jeans. Well, actually since the holidays these might now be classified as my 'very skinny' jeans. Like many women I have a variety of sizes in my closet to keep up with my everchanging waistline. I have pre-baby, postbaby, prePMS, postPMS, perimenopausal, and now the newest size to join the closet...menopausal. It is good to have options.

So there I stood, struggling to get into my jeans in the changing stall. Not a lot of room to move around in so I opted for jumping up and down as I shoved my thighs into place. I marched in place at a rapid pace to stretch the material out. I was now working up a sweat and my face had a rosy glow. Now the tough part - the zipper. My best bet would be to lie down, suck in and zip but there was no room in the stall and there was no way I was going out into the main locker room in front of all those women, many young women, and laying down on a bench. No way. I sat on the little stool, put my feet on the opposite wall of the stall and tried to lay backwards. I sucked in, laid back and whacked my head on the counter. I wanted to kick short stout and tall slimy where it counts.

I wish I had a pair of pliers in my bag. Maybe I should just put my gym clothes back on. Gross. I stand up straight, on tippy toes. I suck in real deep so my belly button hits my spine - LOL - and I pull on the zipper. I yank as hard as I can. I think about those two sleazebags yucking it up and SUCCESS! I am now fully dressed and ready to go. I bend over to pick up my gym bag. Ooohhh... I knelt down to pick up my bag. Bending doesn't appear to be an option at the moment. Denim can be very stiff material. I look in the mirror for a quick final glance and try to ignore the fact that all of the extra skin and body parts have shifted and it appears the stomach fat has been shoved up so high it is squishing out the neck of my sweater. Attractive.

I enter the gym lobby and meet up with my husband.
"You okay? Your face is really red and you're walking funny."
"I am fine. Let's just get out of here," I growl.
"So what did those guys say that upset you?"
"You know, it doesn't really matter. Let's go."