My exercise bike makes me glad I wear a lab coat during work. Otherwise I might end up getting sued for sexual harassment or something. I'll explain.
The exercise bike is the only commitment to physical fitness I can seem to keep. It seems less like exercise if I'm sitting on my ass, and really, 20 minutes a day of ass sitting huffing and puffing while listening to reruns of the Al Franken show isn't too much to ask in case the Mountain of Punishment comes calling again. There is a problem though. Exercise bikes do nothing to work the upper body, so after a few years of pedaling away, I am now Clark Kent from the waist up and absolutely Superman from the waist down. Any ladies out there with a thigh fetish totally need to call me.
It presents a problem when buying clothing however, particularly pants. I basically have two choices: 1) Have the pants fit around my waist but be tight around my massive superman thighs, or 2) Have pants that go around my thighs but then are a few inches too big around the beginning of the Clark Kent zone. I could go to a tailor I suppose, or I could do some upper body work, or I could keep hoping someday a sweatshop that supplies Target will get their measurements slightly wrong. The Target option is most appealing to me.
So this workday I was wearing a pair of "waist fitting thigh tight" trousers that were also a bit snug around the....um.....private area. A few hours of this clothing closeness and Mr. Happy decides to wake up and see what's going on. I'm not kidding. A total inappropriate boner in the middle of the workday. It was just like being 16 years old again without the zits.
I should add that there were no attractive people around, men or women. I work in a pharmacy remember. Pharmacies make their money off people who two hundred years ago would be living in leper colonies.
I tried baseball statistics. I tried thinking of dead puppies. Staying very still for as long as possible. I prayed that perfect skin woman wouldn't come in. Or that she would, depending on what kind of mood she'd be in. Eventually someone from the district office called, and when they asked if I would work a 12 hour overtime shift in another store, I was able to use my annoyance to put my Johnson back to sleep for the rest of the day.
So next time you see a man who seems mighty glad to see you, get over yourself. There's a chance he's just a poor schmo who needs a pants adjustment.
