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I Hit On The Hot Girl At The Gym And She Now Thinks I’m Retarded

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Three days ago, I had an interesting, and painful, experience at the gym. I actually go to the gym every day. I don’t work out; I just stand there and listen to my iPod and hope that no one notices that I’m just standing there listening to my iPod. Every now and then if I see someone look at me, I’ll do a quick burpee but it ends up just looking like Stephen Hawking on E trying to breakdance.

I was standing at a mat by the wall with a mirror (so everyone can see their fat, disgusting bodies sweating oceans of false hopes). I’m about to head out, ironically probably to go get fast food somewhere.

As I’m about to leave, I look to my right, and I see THE most gorgeous goddamn girl I have ever seen in my life. She was more than a dime. To paraphrase This is Spinal Tap, she went up to 11. She had blonde hair in a ponytail, and she had teeth whiter than my dad’s taste in music. Her body was insane. It was one of those moments where you see a girl so hot that you don’t even get turned on; you just get confused. Standing there thinking, She’s not real. That’s clearly CGI. Michael Bay directed that woman. She was super buff, too. To me, it’s a huge turn on when a girl looks like she can beat me up.

I can’t leave without trying to talk to this girl, but I can’t talk to her right now and interrupt her workout. So in my mind I constructed a plan: I’ll work out until she’s done working out, then we’ll “coincidentally” be done at the same time. Once we leave and we’re outside, I’ll try to strike up a conversation.

Bad idea.

At the time, I didn’t realize that this girl goes hard. She worked out for hours. HOURS. She worked for at least a Lord of the Rings movie. At least. A hobbit and a half, that’s how fucking long she exercised. But I didn’t want to be a quitter like Pope Benedict XVI or Kurt Cobain, so I stuck to my plan. And I was working out just as hard as her, because I didn’t want to seem lazy to this apparent Olympian/Greek goddess.

It was crazy. We were on the mat and she was doing every non-machine workout in the damn book. She was doing burpees, push-ups, sit-ups, planks, squats, and at one point she was bench pressing Rosie O’Donnell. And I’m trying to keep up. I did so many fucking squats.

But finally, eventually, she finished. I feel a tsunami of emotional relief wash over my body. She grabs her shit and walks out, so I grab my shit and walk out. Fast forward to about a minute later. We’re both outside. Holy shit, this is my chance. I gotta say some shit. But here’s the problem: I’m a lazy bucket of dog shit and I’m not used to exercising, especially for that long of a time. I’m physically exhausted, feeling like I’m on the brink of death. I could see the light, and could even see the ghost of my great grandmother, still making uncomfortably racist comments.

I’m so out of breath that I literally can’t form words. Every time I try to say a sentence out loud, I run out of breath and my pick-up lines spill out in bizarre fits of mumbling gibberish that fade out in mid-air. I wasn’t even speaking English. To make matters even worse, her boyfriend walks up. I didn’t know she had come there with her boyfriend and they were gonna meet up and leave together after their workout.

Now this dude looked like a bit of giant, wet, flapping douchebag. But he was also the most muscular dude I’ve ever seen. He looked like The Incredible Hulk if he had white skin and was a Kid Rock fan. He looks furious as fuck. He spouts out the angry and accurate accusation, “Are you talking to my girl, bro?!”

I panic. I’m thinking this guy is gonna snap me in half and eat pieces of my corpse for protein. But it was my lucky day. The girl saved my life.

She looked at her boyfriend and gently whispered, “Baby, it’s okay… I think he’s retarded.”

His whole demeanor changed. He held his hand out and said, “Dude, I think it’s so inspiring that you came here today.”

Image via Shutterstock

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Wally Bryton

TFM’s most beloved writer

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