I have two big goals in life. Goal number one is to publish a novel that is read and loved by strangers. I’m thinking lots of strangers, like 200 or 300. My second goal is to become an outstanding hip hop dancer. And when I say outstanding, I mean that I can position myself in the front row of hip hop dance class at the gym, and I know all the moves. When the instructor decides to stop dancing at the front of the class and instead jumps around throughout the room to yell the oh-so inspirational “Come on, girl!” to the less experienced students, every one looks to me for what to do next. Every once in a while, maybe someone even mistakes me for the instructor – that’s how outstanding I aspire to be.
Well Saturday morning, in my effort to achieve goal #2, I got dressed for Zumba class at the gym. Usually I put very little effort into my appearance when I prepare for the gym. And on Saturday, I put in even less effort than usual. I grabbed some baggy sweat pants out of the dirty laundry pile, put on a t-shirt I had gotten for free somewhere, and put on a thin hooded sweatshirt I found from nine years ago. Then I messily put one of those tight headbands in my hair: the kind that reminds the world my head is misshapen, and I would be nothing without my hair. Some girls look cute in the headbands. These girls are wizards masquerading as athletic mortals.
Anyway, I looked disgusting. But I didn’t care, because I was going to the gym. I figured no one would know this was a “before” situation and not an “after an extensive workout at the gym” deal. I walked down the hall, and at the elevator, I selected the down button. To my horror, I heard people talking. This meant that people who live in our building were in the elevator, and worse, when the doors opened, they would see me. Before I could turn around and run towards the stairs, the elevator doors opened, and there stood what must be the four most beautiful people in the building – well, three of the most beautiful people, and one who was just okay. They stopped their conversation and looked at me, as if I were too dirty to get on the elevator. I looked at them, as if they were too well-dressed to be on the elevator. Then I stepped in and turned around and faced the door, hoping they would forget I was in there. Luckily, they did, and resumed their conversation, which went like this:
Stylish Male #1: That’s why we don’t talk to Jared anymore. Annnnd we haven’t been around ….and all these things have been happening.
Stylish Female #2: Wow…
Me: Oooh! What did this Jared character do? It sounds like something terrible. I hope they give me more context.
Stylish Female: #2: I’m so happy for you guys.
Stylish Female #1: Aw, thank you.
Stylish Female #2: I’m so happy I’m going to cry.
Me: Did Stylish Female #1 just get engaged? Let’s casually look at her hands…no. She’s already married. Okay look back before they know you are listening intently.
Stylish Male #2: Congratulations. Definitely congratulations.
Stylish Female #2: I’m going to cry! I’m going to cry. This is amazing.
Me: What kind of news did you just share in the elevator? AND WHAT ROLE COULD THIS JARED CHARACTER HAVE POSSIBLY PLAYED?
Stylish Female #2: I’m going to burst into tears, I am SO happy for you two.
Me: This isn’t one of those fancy elevators that has tissue boxes, so you need to wait.
Then the elevator doors opened, and I ran out in a slight jog so that it was clear exercise was involved in my wardrobe decisions.