And Work It, Two, Three, Four

Last night at the gym I looked over to a young woman entering the cardio room; she had on tight black capri-sweats and a tight pink wife beater over a bright red sports bra. I probably wouldn't have minded half as much if she wasn't 300 lbs.

Ladies, I laud you for going to the gym to shape up. It adds years to your life expectancy, it makes you more confident - you just feel better. I do it for the same reasons. Well, that and so I don't feel guilty for indulging in the occasional crunchy taco.

However, you have not yet earned the privilege that is tight clothing. And you, specifically, Ms. Red Sports Bra and non-matching pink wife beater that does nothing to hide your rolls of fat nor pink, blotted skin - should be thrown in the hottest pits of Hell for hypnotizing me into watching your knees hit your drooping stomach while peddling on the stationary bike. I almost feel bad for you, as you clearly aren't pretty, and in the event of losing all that weight, still won't be. You should go to the doctor about your acne, because if you can afford a gym membership, you can afford Proactiv. The only hope for you is that you are intelligent and a good conversationalist, but judging by the Redbook you've been glancing at, that doesn't seem so likely.