I'd just finished my workout: a circuit of weight-lifting, a series of ab work, and a run on the elliptical. "Here you go, Miss Fitness," the gym employee said, handing over my membership card. Miss Fitness! The gym employee was referring to me. I was stunned. No one, ever in my life, has ever referred to anything related to fitness or athletics in conjunction with ME. Yet here I am, referring to "weights" and "run" and "ab work." Who am I? Miss Fitness, apparently.
I suppose I can understand his error. I've been at the gym about four times a week for the past month or so, ever since a little mishap with a Watermelon bridesmaid's dress that I ordered two months ago and then--horror, oh horror--could not fit into when it came in, prompting a frenzied return to David's Bridal and an even more frenzied seeking out of a dress, any dress, that would arrive before Molly's wedding. (Please see previous post for possible sources of this problem.)
Anyway. Miss Fitness. Are you happy, California?? Are you happy now??