By the Light of the Equipment
So I recently joined a gym. Yes, yes, let's forego all the pleasantries about how women don't like men with expanding asses and burgeoning stomachs. That would probably be one of the main reasons why I'm putting good money down to go into that Building of Masochism™ a few times a week to inflict torture upon myself. Hell, I even pay someone extra to inflict even more pain on me!
But given that this is Southern California, I'm not the only one in the gym, even when I'm there at 11:30pm. Not only am I surrounded by muscle-bound maniacs who push thousands of pounds of iron and then go running for hours on end on the treadmills (which, honestly, I really don't understand — why are you paying to run in place when there's hundreds of miles of roads and sidewalks right outside? But that's another rant for another time…), but there are… women there, working out and toning themselves and sculpting themselves into the gorgeous ladies who populate the area and who I drool over on a daily basis despite the fact that they never look back. Which is probably a good thing, considering I'm told that women find drooling unattractive.
The thing is, these women — you know, the ones at the gym? — they're dressed… umm… gorgeously. Yes, even at the gym. I mean, I know Spandex is a privilege and not a right, but these women deserve to wear Spandex. Some of them even go as far as to wear athletic bras. And just athletic bras… at least on top — yes, they put on stuff that covers their other parts. It's like, hel-LO, gorgeous women are all around me and some of them are dressed in even less than the ones I see walking down the street!
Naturally, I look. And I'm not really a gawker, but there are some times when I'm checking out the women. You would, too. It's not like I'm making comments and pointing or being incredibly obvious or anything like that, I'm just, you know… gently checking them out. The problem is — some of them apparently don't take kindly to being checked out. I get dirty looks in return.
I call foul on that. In fact, I call triple-foul on that. For crying out loud, if you're dressed in an outfit like that, how can you expect me not to check you out? You're wearing next to nothing. And the stuff that you are wearing is barely leaving anything to the imagination. Honestly, I think it's be a crime for me not to look. Besides, isn't checking out a woman a compliment?
Here's my thing: If you don't want to be checked out, then dress accordingly. If you don't want me to look at your boobs, cover them. If you don't want me to admire your legs, don't wear short shorts. There's no law that prohibits you from wearing a loose t-shirt and baggy track pants instead of a sports bra and Spandex Daisy Dukes. And if you do wear the sports bra and Spandex Daisy Dukes (that is, of course, if you deserve to wear them because if you don't and you wear that outfit anyways, expect a beating from the Fashion Police), you're not allowed to be displeased when I check you out. That's my decree.