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Friday, April 25, 2008

What would you have done?

So, this one time, I was in exercise class. The girl in front of me had a small hole, just right of center, in the back of her stretchy exercise pants. My first instinct was to tell her, but why go with your gut when you can over-analyze something to death? Especially if that over-analyzing distracts you from the agony of exercise class.

If I told her, she'd feel obligated to skip exercise for the day, lest the hole enlarge and expose more than just a small patch of skin. And I hate missing exercise, especially when I've counted on it and gone to the trouble of getting dressed, getting childcare and showing up. That was one reason I didn't tell her. Also, I checked to see if there were any men in the class. Because I wouldn't mind if a few women saw a patch of my bare behind, but men would be a whole 'nother thing. Their imaginations are too vivid for my taste. Give them an inch of skin and, before you know it, they're picturing you totally nude and running through the grocery store singing Marvin Gaye, wearing pasties if you're lucky.

Of course I questioned my decision throughout the class, especially when she would twist around, looking for the hole when she felt a draft. Every time she twisted, the hole would close, so she never saw it. I thought about telling her so she wouldn't think she was losing her mind. I got very nervous as the hole moved closer and closer to the middle. I mean, bare skin is one thing. It looks the same all over, so a patch of bum could be an arm, cheek (face-type) or any other inoffensive body part. Not that a bum is offensive. It's just that you should only share it with certain people, like your doctor, your husband or that guy who wanted to take a cell phone picture of your bare bum for thirty dollars your personal waxer.

And it's not like I was the only person not telling her. There were several people who could see it. I know they could see it because, like me, they were trying to monitor it without seeming like they were staring. Besides, doesn't the end justify the means and all that? The hole never made it to the fifty yard line. It settled around the thirty five, not close enough to inspire real panic. And that girl got to finish her exercise for the day, which makes the rest of us practically saints. Or guardian angels, since we were all keeping an eye on the progress of the hole.

I sincerely hope, when that girl got home and realized she hadn't imagined the draft, that she didn't feel mad at everyone behind her. I hope she understood our careful consideration. There are some things that aren't covered in Emily Post and it's hard to know just what to do. And, by the way, if you see me with a hole in my pants at the gym, tell me after I finish exercising, but before I go out to lunch, okay?

Namasté, y'all!

1 comment:

Don Mills Diva said...

Oh that's a hard one. I don't think I would have told her. It's just funnier if I don't, ya know?