WOW, really?

Up until recently, my gym pass did not allow me into the gym. That is, that the gym had been rejecting me. Luckily, I could always sign out a card to do the trick. Unluckily, it meant that I had to endure the following conversation.

Me: Hi, Uh, can't get in the gym again.
Security: Just sign here. I'll get the card.
Me: Think God's trying to tell me something. Like, go home, have a burger.
Security: No, don't do that! You have to go to the gym!
Me: I do?
Security: You really should go.
Me: Oh.
Security: I have this friend, this girl, she can eat anything she wants, and it just disappears. She's tiny.
Me: I have friends like that.
Security: And then there are people like us.
Me: Like us?
Security: Like you and me. People who have no choice, but to go to the gym.

Now, you might be wondering how I've managed to memorise the above, and the reason is that I'm so deeply scarred. Partially, because the 'us' he's referring to, includes me, who is at the time partially concealed by a barrier, with only my face and upper torso visible, and him, 50+ man with more belly than body.

It's times like these, where I want to turn to the drink. And I don't think any of you, could tear that bottle from my grip.

At some point in your day, any point, please take a moment, to close your eyes, and think, poor Gemma, that poor, poor girl. Life tries to smash her down, but alas, she is so strong.

ALSO I'm getting really sick of Ginger Beard eating haribo. He walks around with his jean pockets stuffed with those little bags, smelling of gelatin. He's stocked the freezer with ice cream. Why doesn't he love me properly? I guess I should be grateful that every time I almost reach for the chocolate, the realisation that my male counterpart is an elderly, obese security guard, just stops me. Thank God for small miracles.

Your grouchy, deprived of anything fun, hysterical friend, WriterAtLunch