Here’s the thing, I’m a creature of habit. Sure, I’m boring and am, therefore, in a perpetual rut, but, I like the expected. I hate surprises.
I’ve been going to my gym for three years. And for three years, I’ve had a spot in the group exercise room. Front row, because I hate being surrounded by people and to the left, because the mirrors on the left side of the room make me look long and lean; the mirrors on the right, for whatever reason, make me look short and dumpy. Which means that the right side mirrors are more accurate. Don’t judge though. Wouldn’t you rather look longer and leaner if you could?
It’s unspoken, but people know where my spot is. Likewise, other class participants have their favorite spots, as well. If you’re in the know, and are even the slightest bit aware and concerned, you leave other people’s spots alone. It’s common gym courtesy.
For the past few months, there is a class participant who always takes my spot. She used to park herself in other places around the room, but lately, she’s honed in on MY spot. And I don’t like it one bit.
It’s MY spot.
Everyone else knows it. People have even commented on it. Well, one person did. That still counts, right?
But what am I supposed to do?
I’m not confrontational. And besides it’s not technically my spot. Even though, it really is my spot. I know I don’t pay for it. I wasn’t awarded custody of it. It’s public property.
But it’s still mine. In my heart and in my soul. It’s mine.
She’s a nice enough lady. I certainly don’t want to harbor such hatred and animosity towards a member of the senior citizens community. But I cannot help it. It’s my spot.
Whew. I just needed to get that off my chest. And, while I’m in a griping mood, I think I’ll complain about a few more things which are bugging me at the moment. First up: I hate the word munch. HATE. A blogger I read uses it a lot and it makes me want to scream every time I read it. Munch. It’s such a dumb word. Munch. ‘I munched on an apple.’ Just say you ate an apple. Please.
And while we’re on the subject of apples, it annoys me to no end (on blogs, specifically) when someone feels the need to include the fact that the apple, or whatever food they’re eating, is organic. ‘I had an organic apple with my lunch.’ Just say it’s an apple. I won’t judge you if the apple you’re eating is conventional or organic. I do not care.
There. That’s better.
I’m not sure what put me in such a mood today. Wait, I know. Beverly (that’s her name) keeps taking my spot. That’s what put me in this mood.