I had a day yesterday.
An I Love Lucy day.
I woke up, refreshed my red hair from the night before, did my makeup in the car, and arrived early to work.
At 6:00pm, I left the office to meet a friend for dinner.
You know that super cheesy Lionel Richie song, most lately famous for being the song that Steve Carrell’s character uses as the backdrop to his very first masturbation in “The 40-Year-Old Virgin?”
Hello… Is it me you’re looking for? I can see it in your eyes… I can see it in your smile… You’re all I’ve ever wanted, (and) my arms are open wide, and I want to tell you so much…
… I love you …
Well, that song played seven times in a row. At a sushi restaurant. Where during our apparent romantic dinner, an agent overenthusiastically convinced her new hot actor client that he was going to be the next, as I said: George Clooney, as my hot date said: Colin Farrell. He was not this good looking, and the agent was that annoying.
So we wrapped up dinner – I had to skiddaddle to get to a Cardio Barre class and still had to go all the way home to change, turn right back around and pretty much go right back to where I just was.
Realizing that I have physical therapy the next day, I decide that I must do laundry after the class because, well, my athletic clothes were all dirty and smelled that way.
I took off my pants, and decided on no underwear, to really get the full use out of the Laundromat – let no underwear go uncleaned!
I put on a pair of leggings that I hadn’t worn in a while, threw all my dirty clothes into my handy-dandy laundry travel bag, and rushed out the door to make the class.
For some unfortunate reason there was too much traffic on my usually normal jaunt over to Hollywood so I was antsy and annoyed. 25 minutes later, I finally make it to Wilcox, park, grab my yoga mat, and rush in to the class. They swipe my class card, and I find a spot on the floor.
Chuck off my shoes, put my bag on the wall, and join the class, relieved and excited to get this workout in. I always love doing this class because it focuses on the core and is mainly dance/ballet-oriented movements, so I can relive my dancing days of the past…
I roll my head around, stretching my neck and begin the class. Following the instructor’s commands, I step my legs far apart to either side of me, and plie, squat, if you will.
As I look through my legs, squatting with them wide apart, I see my vagina.
There is a gaping hole in my pants. And there is no underwear to shield what lies beneath.
I stared at it, laughed with a big HA! and walked into the bathroom with a huge smile on my face, like, can you believe that?!
In any other circumstance, I would have been like, HA! LOL and continued on with my business, but in a class where the main focus is basically opening your legs and stretching, vagina facing the whole class from any angle, it was a no go. Even I couldn’t do it.
I particularly enjoyed the moment where I walked up to the front desk and asked them if I could get the class back on my card, as I had a hole in my pants and no underwear on.
The owner slyly whispered to me, I don’t wear underwear when I work out either… Although this is a new one… While the other two girls stared at me like I was an alien.
So I giggled my way to my car and drove to the Laundromat in which I threw my brand-new York peppermint patty on the floor the minute I forcibly opened it. Only to pick it up, look around to see that no one saw, and ate it.