Rattus Gymicus...the She-gog!

**If you are happily operating under the impression that the author of this blog is without a mean streak, we strongly suggest you scroll down to the pretty blankie instead of reading on...**

Few occasions in life actually spur the instantaneous frothing of a blog post while in the midst of the actual experience, but tonight...friends, tonight was one big huge freakin' exception! Truly, there came a time on this eve when I feared that my head was in danger of exploding, much like Chandler when his hastily chosen resolution causes him to exclaim, "Must MOCK SOMETHING!!!!"

For some time now, a few close friends have awaited a coming post entitled "Rattus Gymicus" (an exposé on how gyms in Utah tend to resemble bars outside of the bubble). Just as Rattus Norvegicus started the Plague (thank you Rachel Greene), I am afeared a similar pandemic has begun to infest our beloved P-town. Many a trip to the gym affords oodles of blog fodder about scantily-clad, mini floozy-ditzes who are undeniably feigning interest in the gym furnishings. Rather, their all-too-obvious sites are set on the flexing lats, biceps, and glutes galore...all lain as cheesy traps for said Gym Rats (pun completely intended) who repeatedly snatch glimpses of their reflections as they prance past mirror after mirror. Careful there, honey. I'm currently suppressing the urge to shot-put this 5-0 right into your dangly Claire's earrings, sweet cheeks. Alas, I digress...

The usual attendees of Aquacardio on Wednesday nights are just as you might imagine. Accompanying hot tub, sauna, and steam room keep the place crawling with "the best" Provo has to offer (scary), but tonight SHE took my interpretation of Gym Rat to inexplicable heights. As she scampered into the room, the ensuing deafening silence stopped even the lap-swimmers in their tracks...I mean...wake. I am quite certain that no female mammal should be allowed to "scamper" in a string bikini...

As the night played out, I quickly dubbed her the Aragog of Gym Rats, as I'm certain the sheer magnitude (and level of fear instilled) is comparable to that experienced by Harry and Ron. Yes, folks, medically overenlarged-ness in size A fabric clippings...DOING AQUACARDIO. Oh-Ma-Ha! (a clever ingeniosity from Miss J, employing the ever-entertaining 'voice-the-acronym' option, much like "Fuh-HEee" for FHE) As she entered the pool she shouted a warning to the rest of us, "These bottoms are too big, so they may just come off. Watch out." Um...I tried not to become lost in the relative anatomic impossibility of that mess as the class began. The teacher actually eventually offered to tie her top tighter for her, but had to enlist the help of four other ladies to contain those flotation devices. Seriously! I blew off snippets of the pressure during the next hour by muttering "OH-MA-HA" to myself while everything male within a 10 mile radius suffered unending paralysis of the eyeballs as though they could all hear the same indistinguishable voice repeatedly yelling, "SQUIRREL!!!!!!!"

Aragog, herself, added to the ludicrosity level in her overly-breathy voice, "I'm so tired, I did ballet for years..." Huh? (Did those years accumulate into this moment?) "I really shouldn't have done those three hours of weights earlier..." What the?? "Is it alright if I develop my arabesque all the way?" OH. MA. HA.

That was it, folks. I nearly drowned with that last one as I collapsed with laughter mid-half-sumberged-jumping-jack. I couldn't handle it anymore. The She-gog discovered my sanity breaking-point today. Between the disgusting pander from the unwashed miscreants of the peanut gallery and the inappropriate moaning and wailing issuing from the inexcusable Mother Rat herself, I lost it... I was thinking, "You're not fooling any of us, skank. If those newly purchased toys were, indeed, real, you'd've mastered the multi-layer encasement by now, just like the rest of us in this class. No flaunting needed." But that seemed a bit cruel, as it was her first day, and all that ballet really seemed to be catching up with her...

No worries. None of it even scathed her. When I left, snorting uncontrollably, she was noisily ranting to a lovely, yet terrified and trapped in the hot-tub, German woman about how her bazungas were actually real, and how they were such a bother when she was eight, having matured early due to all the extra hormones in the mass amounts of cow's milk she'd consumed as a child... And, no, I'm not kidding.

I was rendered speechless all the way home (ask my roommate)! Therefore, I had to get that out there. Whew. In the future, I will try to refrain from posting such horrendous happenings on here. Uh...and, perhaps when I awake tomorrow, Charitable Karen will have rejoined us...

**If the pop-culture laden vernacular bogged you down, might I refer:
FRIENDS, Harry Potter, UP!, and 10 Things I Hate About You (the movie)**