It seems everything I do or buy or embrace is just a wee bit late to a party I wasn’t invited to. Take shoes, for instance. I bought UGGS three years after they became a fashion foot pas and now feel like Britney Spears on a Starbucks bender every time I slip my hooves into my gray fuzzy cave shoes. Then there are the electronics. We just bought a flat screen last Christmas after gazing at a wiggly, greenish Sony Trinitron for far too many years which caused headaches, nausea and undeveloped anger. Moving on to information. I just subscribed to News of the World and bang, they pulled the magic carpet right out from under me and closed the hackers down. Where or where will I get my illegal and questionable celebrity gossip? Boo to the hoo.
But the most recent and delightfully ridiculous tardy item on my why-didn’t-I-do- this-sooner list has to be my new membership to the local YMCA. How could I have gone through years of Hollywood ladder crawling and four years of meltdown motherhood without even knowing there was a YMCA that has four floors of fuck yeah and ten miles of awesome. Swim lessons, karate classes, FREE BABYSITTING, treadmills, yoga classes, a boxing room, FREE BABYSITTING, racquetball courts, FREE BABYSITTING and FREE BABYSITTING?
So far I have run approximately forty eight miles while Otto has learned to float on his back, kick and hold his breath and play nice with a bunch of strangers without as much as a peep of displeasure or terror. The members are a village of people all shapes sizes and colors who seem to have no interest in posturing or peacocking all over the Elliptical machines. There is no elitism, no fashion parade of pretension, no Hardtail contests and any bullshit or judgment. The Y is simply a melting pot of cool and casual and all colors of Benetton.
While so many gold-splattered specimens have private gyms in their homes or some shiny exercise equipment in their guesthouse or a Thighmaster in the trunk of their ’94 BMW I now have the cop, the Indian, the police officer and the gay biker dude in ass-less chaps. And I can get myself clean; I can have a good meal. I can do whatever I feel.