Women are such interesting animals…Yes, animals. You have to wonder how men have co-existed and kept up with these crazed mental patients for so long. I mean if you really think about it, can you really blame them for suppressing the female population for as long as they did? Poor guys just couldn’t keep up…
But there is a particular group of woman who have brought a whole new definition to Mind-games. I’m no historian, but I believe the 50′s and 60′s social structure provided a prime environment for these women to evolve into mind-fucking masters, I’m talking about housewives. Dangerous, Devious and Dainty all in the same sentence.
Now before all you housewives reading get your panties in a bunch and start throwing Dr. Oz’s latest recipe in my face, let’s at least admit you look forward to other activities that don’t involve cooking, cleaning or children…activities like the gym. I’m not saying it’s pathetic…I know for working women, the highlight of our week is casual Fridays so were not that far off. But when I joined a new gym this year and saw first hand how housewives interact with one another, my perspective on this group of women has really changed.
I’m not a fan of the gym and if it wasn’t for the multiple self-loathing sessions about the jiggly packs on my ass, I’d never set foot in that fat-burning hell hole. Eventually, reality sets in; you can’t eat like a 700lb man trying to maintain a 140lb stature without a little work-out here and there. Thus, I take group fitness classes (hell ya!) with a bunch of 40-50 year old housewives and have developed a whole new set of middle-aged girlfriends! This is exciting, because I believe middle-aged friends are better than 20 something-year-old friends, I just learn a lot more from them.
They teach me all about menopause, divorce and why 40 truly is the NEW 20. I even found out the reason why our trainer doesn’t incorporate any jumping exercises into our workouts. It’s because the older women almost always pee their pants. Apparently, after having a couple of children, jumping up and down makes you wet yourself.
A Great Motto To Live By
These home warriors are a force to be reckoned with; once you piss them off, its war. Housewives have the time for a good, long battle so you can’t underestimate their power to fuck with your head.
Let’s digress…
Housewives have silent conflicts. They don’t exchange confrontational words or physical beatings, but instead use passive aggressive tactics to ruin your life. Sometimes, you don’t know your in a conflict until one day you walk into workout class and no body will talk to you, then you know the damage has been done.
Recently, I have gotten tangled up in this mess and it’s actually quite amusing! But before I dive in, let me first introduce you to my middle-aged workout friends…
Plasty
Plasty is purely plastic. Her boobs, her lips, her ass are all fake. She dyes her hair blonde and wears make-up to work out. PLASTY never sweats. According to her, ladies don’t sweat because ladies don’t need to work that hard, that’s what men are for. For a woman who doesn’t sweat, Plasty is as thin as a match-stick probably because she just eats steam and injects plastic into her veins to keep from absorbing any fat.
Plasty also gets really mad when she is behind me in circuit-station workouts (moving from one exercise to another). I sweat a lot and she gets annoyed that my sweat is sometimes left behind on a yoga mat or weight bench. She has never said this, remember silence is key here, but her eye rolls and disgusted sighs tip me off to her sweat displeasure. I, in return, leave as much of my sweat behind as possible.
Mama
Mama goes to the gym because she is trying to loose her “baby-weight”. Her youngest child was born 7 years ago. Mama also rocks a mean-camel toe…I’m talking her spandex is screaming for help because it’s at the point of no return. Mama of course drives a half SUV/half mini-van (with turbo) completed with the animated avatars of her family members on the back windshield.
Queefy
Queefy’s name might give away her claim to fame. Queefy always Queefs (vagina farts) in workout class. Usually it happens during our ab and core exercises. When it happens, she always giggles and tries to play it off, “My silly shoe keeps making that silly noise!“
I like Queefy, but someone needs to tell her the truth. We know you just Queefed, Queefy and hey, its happens. but seriously, it’s awkward. I think you need to get some sort of plug…I’m sure a tampon would do the trick.
And finally, this brings us to the last gym lady-My enemy…
She might as well look like this
Competitive Connie
Competitive Connie is my enemy and I am hers…but we haven’t verbally established this, again silence is key here.
Competitive Connie is the one woman who needs to compete for everything and anything.
Have a great joke to tell? Competitive Connie has a better one. Just upped your weight in bench pressing? Competitive Connie’s been doing that for months.Met a celebrity and got something on sale? Competitive Connie met three and got it cheaper. YOUR story is NEVER as GREAT as Competitive Connie’s…
Hence, why no one likes Competitive Connie…
I don’t like her because she goes out of her way to make everyone look stupid.
The other ladies don’t like her because she hired a cleaning lady 4x a week (apparently, this is a no-no in the world of housewives).
Long story short, one day, the ladies got so tired of it, that they nominated me to try and OUT-DO Competitive Connie.
For days during my drive to and from work I planned my strategy. Since I couldn’t defeat her physically, I would do it with a story she couldn’t outshine. A story so powerful, there was nothing she could say to Top-it.
When the day had arrived, I took a deep breath as I sat on to my mat and lifted my medicine ball, preparing for abs. I gave a nod to Plasty, Queefy and Mama letting them know it was time. They excitedly looked at one another; This was the day their nightly phone conversations had waited for, the day That Girl Ryan would defeat Competitive Connie and give hope to all the housewives of the world (Well, in a 15 mile radius at least).
I licked my lips and began my story….
ME: “So Connie, I was excited to tell you that I just found out I’m related to Miley Cyrus. She is a cousin of mine through a distant relative who just happened to also invent the vacuum, you know the vacuum that whirls in a circle and pivots behind couches? I believe you told us you have one of those no? Anyway, when I found this out, I decided to vacuum my living room. When I emptied the vacuum bag, I discovered $50! That same day after the dishes, laundry and lunches were completed, I went to DSW and bought these $50 heels that were marked down from $150″.
By the time I finished my verbal strike, I was out of breath. There was no way she was going to out-shine THAT story. Competitive Connie stopped her exercise and turned directly in my direction; she understood that I had just declared war.
The ladies and I waited in silence holding our breath, Queefy holding hers a little more, I’m sure, because we were doing crunches.
Would Competitive Connie collapse from defeat? Or would she take the bait?
That fucker took the bait.
“Well, that was quite a day for you, That Girl Ryan and such an interesting story! (SMILE) It actually reminds me of the time I went to my uncle’s house, who is also Babe Ruth’s son. He invented the broom! The broom came BEFORE the vacuum, if I have my facts in order. Speaking of the vacuum you referenced, I just threw it out..pity. It actually is a crappy, horrible vacuum and i wouldn’t recommend it to MY WORST enemy. (SMILE). You should probably focus a little more on completing your abs, your only at 55 and I am already on 75 and almost done.“
As she trailed off on her bullshit, I sat in total disbelief that I had lost to a housewife. I crafted that story over a 3 day period just to make sure I could out-do her and she thought of that shit in 30 seconds.
This is accurate
Not only that, but I had let my gym ladies down. Now their day would continue to be boring, surely they were looking forward to their phone-gossip schedules that would have lasted well into the evening before their husbands returned home from work.
The next few days, Competitive Connie really ramped up her plan for total destruction. When I would lift a weight, she would get a bigger weight and lift it longer. When I would jog instead of walk to my next circuit station, she would sprint. I even ran into her at the grocery store a few nights ago. She smiled (obviously fake) and I smiled back (even more fake). We chatted about the weather and wished each other a nice evening but in my mind, I knew there was a different meaning…
“The weather seems quite odd lately” Translation: You are really going to try and out-do me?
“This sunshine won’t last long, its about time the temperature starts to lower” Translation: You may be the under-dog that Queefy, Mama and Plasty are rooting for, but you will never defeat me.
“Have a good night, I will see you bright and early!” Translation: Bring your game, bitch.
I have never had an invisible housewife conflict so I am a bit lost when it comes to these things. But sooner or later, I’m going to set the gym ladies FREE, away from the reign of Competitive Connie.
But until that time, the drama continues….
