My gym is full of elderlies.

I don’t go to a normal gym, I work out at a church rec center. It’s cheap and has what I need and it’s only like five minutes away, so it’s pretty awesome. But seriously, no one there is under the age of sixty.

So I go up to the front desk to sign in, and the nice old lady behind the desk is chatting with another nice old lady. So I just sort of stand there and start checking my text messages, because I am a Good Southern Girl and do not interrupt my elders.

And then they notice me, and they’re like “oh, land sakes, honey, I didn’t even see you there!” And the nice old lady behind the desk says “Well, aren’t you just a good little girl?”

And I thought about saying something about “Oh, well, you know, I’m a very nice twenty-four-year-old with a college degree and a husband.”

And then I remembered that I was wearing my Peter Pan on Broadway tee shirt and purple boys’ basketball PE shorts with my high school logo on the thigh and my old high school cheer shorts and I don’t work out with my wedding rings on and my bangs were pinned back and I had my glasses on and I get mistaken for sixteen on a good day so…

…now the elderlies at my gym think I’m a precious little teenager. I think I’m their mascot now.

(I also startle them when I start running around the track but that’s another story.)

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