No Fishing Allowed

Over the weekend, while the boys played a couple hours of tennis, Zoe and I went swimming. A bunch of middle-aged moms in swimsuits, in December, in Minnesota, doesn't exactly provide the same scenery as South Beach. It's obvious that we've all jammed a couple duffel bags through the keyhole, collagen is in short supply, and the boob fairy has a sick sense of humor. But no one cares about any of this because after all, we're not voluntarily swimming in an over-chlorinated indoor pool to impress other women with, or feel bad about, our bodies. We're there to swim with our kids and have fun.

After we were done swimming and had attempted to eradicate all traces of chlorine from our hair, Zoe and I stood at our locker with strategically placed towels, ready to dive into the "try to look presentable with the contents of a gym bag" routine. Unfortunately, there was a crazy lady standing nearby that didn't think towel use was necessary. She had a rail-thin body that had probably never digested a carb, tanning bed skin that resembled beef jerky, and a couple frontal additions that she obviously wasn't born with. This was a woman that was out to impress us with her body and hopefully make us feel bad.

She stood completely naked in front of the mirror, slowly combed her hair, and then finally grabbed some jeans. After looking around at the other normal-looking people, she loudly announced: "Oh. Look at that. I'm still all wet. I hate getting dressed when I'm all wet. I'll just have to dry my hair while the rest of me air dries." Then, she looked at me and continued: "Oh. Your little girl is so cute. My daughter is 24 and borrows all my stuff, including my clothes. We're the same size, you know. I still can't believe I have a 24-year-old. Isn't that hard to believe?"

"No. Not really. You're probably the same size because of that crazy thing called genetics." Yes, I know she was fishing for me to say something like: "Wow! That's amazing! You are sooo skinny and look incredibly young! I wish I could look like you!" But the truth is, she didn't look amazing. She looked like she needed to eat a meatball hoagie on real bread, embrace at least 5% of her natural hair color (I know for a fact that she isn't really a blonde), and put on a bra.

Instead of just getting dressed and leaving, which is what we were all hoping for, she continued: "Yep. The same size. Size zero, in fact. She buys me clothes just so she can wear them first, since we have the same taste, too."

At this point, I didn't trust myself to say anything besides "Mmm hmm. That's interesting." before I flipped on my hair dryer. The thing is, the more I thought about this woman, the more irritated I became. A health club is filled with bodies of all shapes and sizes. Every person that has taken the initiative to get there has the same goal: to be in better shape and to feel good about themselves. The last thing any woman needs is to have to deal with some skinny bitch that knows she's skinny flaunt her naked ass through the locker room, fishing for compliments.

I've decided that my resolutions for the New Year aren't going to include any drastic weight loss measures, desires to look like anyone else, or fighting the laws of nature. They will include carbs, cocktails, the occasional workout, more carbs, yanking out a gray hair here and there, and resisting the urge to push leathery-skinned skinny bitches into the deep end of the over-chlorinated pool.