Gather round, swift and fast
For a love story have I to tell, one that could never last.
Doomed as it was, you see and tragically one-sided,
And launched by a gym creep, whom was very misguided.
Across a crowded room, the gym-goers parted like the sea
When I first laid eyes, on my gym creep-to-be.
Clad in shorts of Spandex so tiny,
Hair perfectly coiffed, some vile oil making it shiny.
His skin was sprayed to a horrid shade of bronze
And instantly I realized, there was a home spray wand.
I shivered as he climbed on the treadmill next to me
And noticed he set his “running” speed to a 3.3
Flexing his biceps and pecs, I do believe – in his mind, he saw hearts.
A decision he’d come to woefully regret … and that’s how this saga starts.
A cheat day provided 24 hours of glorious rest
Then it was back at it, and trying for a personal best.
Entering the gym, headphones down tight and low
I blasted my music as loud as it would go.
Two reps into my five sets of ten,
A blur of movement in the mirror – of course it was him.
The glint in his eye warned of making contact
And I did my best to brace for impact
A cloud of cologne arrived first, then in front of me, he preened,
“Sweetie, you almost done with this machine?”
My mind short-circuits and I genuinely fathom
How does this guy not realize, he’s being a huge dick-wagon?
Answer, I did not – instead leveled him a dangerous glare
Clueless of all signals, the Gym Creep has mistaken this as a personal dare.
Free weights were next,
My form perfect as I pushed up my best bench press.
But he’s followed me over, and as I re-rack my 45-plates,
From his lingering stares, I know I’m viewed as a potential mate.
A series of loud grunts bellow behind me, as my creeper pumps iron
Had we been in a Planet Fitness, he’d be kicked out for setting off the “Lunk” Siren.
Methinks, the creep believes himself to be the next “Austrian Oak”
Nay, he’s not – just one creepy bloke.
One thing is certain, on making conversation he seems quite intent,
And with his latest attempt, my patience is spent.
“Hey gurl – need a spot?”
No sir, gym creep. No I do not.
I’ll take two days off, myself I do tell
Then hopefully the creep will have moved on, and I’ll be rid this circle of hell.
At first, I thought perhaps I was being paranoid
Until it became painfully clear, this brand of Gym Creep, I cannot avoid
Like a crazed mouse, no one’s fitness plan looks like this,
Elliptical, lunges, calf-raises, and ab twists,
He makes a beeline as soon as I’m seen,
To get on the closest machine next to me.
Two weeks elapse of solid hovering,
And his ever-present self is far past the point of smothering.
Small talk he tries once again,
Convinced if he can just get me talking, surely he’ll win.
“Lift here often?”
Universe, please. Someone throw this mo-fo in a lead-lined coffin.
I decided I needed a military-style plan,
One with flanks and rears that even the most-starred of military generals would have found grand.
Secrecy was of utmost concern,
After all – this plan had to pack some sick burn.
With my best girlfriend, (oh did we ever!), schemed and planned,
Until we’d devised a method most creative to get rid of this man.
The intel was easy, no denying that
We had our enemy’s movements down pat.
Now the tricky part, would be sticking our landing,
As she and I both had schedules demanding.
Until finally – the lunchtime restaurant special came,
2-for-1 chili cheese dogs, shakes and tots, we gorged in a manner most profane.
Silent and sneaky, and full to the brim – in we crept like a Trojan Horse,
The Gym Creep would be eliminated in a magnificent show of force.
I would have to be brave, abandoning all sense of class,
But today Gym Creep, you will have creeped your last.
Before he’d arrived, I’d scanned the room,
Carefully plotting where my foe would meet his doom,
My Coup de Grâce? The ab twist, my innards compressed under maximum tension
And then I waited to bat my lashes at him, like a pin-up Vixen.
With D-Day upon us, I spied, then lured him in,
It took very little – just a small, sly grin.
Once I gave him my best “bedroom eyes”
He leapt on the ergo machine next to me – eager to finally claim his prize.
Then, BOOM! A great wind did I let loose,
That roared forth like an angry moose.
First came a polite cough – then an outright gag,
Eyes watering, he stumbled off with his gym bag.
And then it was over, swift and fast … and there I sat, without pretention or class,
Alone, and in sweet, smelly solitude rid of my gym creeper at last.
“Something Rotten in Denmark”
For us, one of the best things of traveling is that we inevitably come back with a hilarious experience or two. Such was the case of “The Rottenest Cab” in Copenhagen, Denmark.
The wheels of fate began to turn when we’d decided to walk from our hotel, down to the Little Mermaid statue, a good 2.1 miles away. One way. Not outside of our typical travel M.O., as we tend to explore cities through walkabouts.
We saw Ariel. Andy hummed the lyrics of “Under the Sea” to the chagrin of several tourists. We walked by the Amelienborg Palace, saw the Opera House across the canal, walked through the Fredickskirche, the shopping street of Stroget, the gardens of Rosenborg Palace, several parks.
By the time we made it back to our hotel room near 4pm, our phones read 6.7 miles. We went out again to the City Hall area, then Tivoli Gardens – and clocked 8.5 miles for the day.
The next morning we were back at it, hitting 4.6 miles before heading back to the hotel to rest for a bit before heading out for dinner.
Understandably, our tired feet were in need of a cab to get to our dinner destination that eve.
Enter “The Rottenest Cab in Denmark.”
Andy gave our destination through the window before we got in, the driver nodded and we scooched into the back seat. Andy, ever the gentleman, opens the cab door for me – I scoot across the back seat, which places me directly behind the driver.
At this point I realize our mistake – but there’s no chance to tell Andy before he gets in.
A dumpster filled with diapers in July heat would’ve smelled better. I have no idea how long this man has been farting in his car, but the stench is horrific.
Being the 12-yr old I am, I couldn’t wait to snicker “There’s something rotten in Denmark” and tried to make eye contact with Andy. He briefly catches my gaze, and immediately looks away – knowing if he makes full eye contact with me, I will howl laughing till the point of tears – absolutely unable to contain myself.
It was the longest, most foul 6-minutes of pure, unadulterated funk. Every red light was agony. Those poor cloth seats had reached maximum absorption eons ago. Each shift in the seat, even the faintest of movements unleashed more.
I gave up all pretense and wrapped my scarf across my face like an ancient traveler crossing the Sahara, in a last-ditch effort to stifle the laughter and the gag-reflex fighting to break loose.
Let's put it this way. If that cab driver ever decided he'd want to clean out this car, he'd need an industrial-strength fire hose - and a crucifix.
The car was still moving as we neared our destination, and I opened the door to bail out. Andy paid the man as fast as humanly possible and bolted. We gulped in huge breaths, as if we’d just run a marathon, and laughed until we cried. Fresh air had never, ever smelled so sweet.
As we walked into a pub, Andy leaned over and said, “Onions? Onions and ketchup?” Free from our torment, we couldn’t help but laugh the rest of the evening.