Gym or catwalk?

When I was younger and fatter, I was going to the gym six times a week. I invested all my spare time in having a spare figure. Spare, spare, spare. I assure you that I have a wide vocabulary, but a few years ago the word spare was the one that I was using all the time. My mother was working out the details of plan of killing me. I had only two tracksuits so she had to do my laundry every day. I went on a diet so she had a new duty: prepare dietetic meals. But I was a good daughter.

So last month I decided to change something in my life. I looked in the mirror and I thought : "I'm not plump, but I'm totally average-looking. I should cut down on sugar and take up a sport."

The truth is that I'm a little bit lazy. I thought that I could do the long jump or hand-gliding because being clumsy is not a big problem. As my pocket was empty I went to a gym. I did two press-ups. I didn't want to do more because the floor was... mucky. While I was running on the treadmill I saw something... I saw God. Ok, it wasn't him, but suddenly the light blinded me.  He had goatee beard and swept back hair. OMG. He was so gorgeous and I realized that I was wearing a scruffy tracksuit and trainers that I had bought in Decathlon. But it I didn't upset me because GYM is a place to do aerobics or do exercise. It's not a CATWALK. So please stop taking selfies and wearing only sports bra. Oh, and don't look at me. I adore my flattering, old-fashioned tracksuit.