I started working out recently. You have to understand how ridiculous that statement is. I am as lazy as they come when it comes to exercise. I think the walk to the mailbox is too far. It just really isn't my thing.  However, dressing the part - totally my thing. I look like I belong in the gym once I get there.  But aside from the cute tank, sneaks and spandex pants, I am an obvious mess.  Half-way into any aerobic class - or whatever the hell modern term is used - I am gasping like a fish and looking like I am about five seconds from a heart attack.  I sweat like a roasting chicken and what little hair I have, is matted to my face and the back of my neck. I think I might even smell like a mix of onions and feet.  I want it all to end the minute I start. People say they get energized. I lay on the floor for a crunch and I want to nap.  But nevertheless, I am trying. Or was trying.  I really don't want to go back to the gym because of course I had to have a small snafu.  Or maybe it would be better to say "sna-pu".   I was just lying there, stretching out like the instructor was saying...minding my own business at the end of class...wondering if anyone would miss me from the death that I felt was near upon me...when the instructor guy walks up to me, kneels down and takes my leg in his hand. The music was soft and his move was slow. I said nothing, I looked around - no one seemed to care.  I looked at him and looked away quickly.  He was saying something to the class about relaxing.  He now had my leg up over my head and was pushing it down into my shoulder as far as it would go - I could practically lick my kneecap. What? What was he doing? Oh God, now he was leaning on me and slowly pushing my leg in little pulses. Some stretch thing? Something else?  I was too unfamiliar with this to really know what was going on  and he knew it. He was totally fucking with me...right?  He kept talking to me and the class about relaxing. I looked around again. Everyone looked chill but all I could think was not to get too relaxed that I would toot in this guy's face with my big leg in the air  and my ass all up towards him.   He finished with me and proclaimed the class complete. I stood up as he turned to walk away. Geeze, after that, the guy could maybe buy me dinner. Huh.  I passed the mirror to get my stuff and noticed at that point that my ass crack was one huge line of sweat. It was spreading down my thigh and when I swiveled to look at my front, I had two lines of sweat where my fleshy thighs made a "V" around my vag.  I looked like I might have pissed my pants there was so much wetness.  Why? Why? Why?  OMG - did that guy see my perspiration problem?  Ew. This is why I hate gyms, and working out and swussy (swampy pussy, for those of you not in-the-know).  No girl should have to have her heated-up lady bits on display, if no one is getting laid in the end.  I once saw some motivational poster that read "sweat is fat crying". Well apparently, my ass was crying me a river.  I couldn't wait to get out of there and back home where I would happily drown my fat sobbing sorrows. But first - a shower!! Ick!

I wore a professional black dress to a client meeting the other day. After work, I was meeting my girlfriends for dinner and so I wanted to change into something a little more casual.  My chosen attire for girls night was a white and blue striped dress.  Considering that, I avoided wearing colorful panties and wore white lace ones so that you couldn't see my underwear through my dinner dress.  When I got to the client office I went to the bathroom before going upstairs to the meeting room. As I was drying my hands, I turned to look at the back of my dress in the mirror and realized that anyone could see my white thong through the thin dark dress. Oh. Come. On.  So naturally the only solution was to take my underwear off. And now there I was, in my first meeting with a new client without my panties.  A "Sharon Stone" move would make a great first impression, wouldn't you say?!