Squished

Dear This-Is-Totally-My-Year-To-Get-In-Shape-It's-My-New-Year's-
Resoluuuution!-First-Time-In-A-Decade-Gym-Goer:

I want my workout back!

I'm not going to get nasty, just honor my seniority here. Please stop taking my primo parking, please stop stockpiling your smells-brand-new gym accessories in my favorite locker, and please stop leaving your (semi-)sweaty (have you broken a sweat yet?) sports bras out to dry in my (once-)sanitary sauna.

Stop walking a 30-minute mile on my treadmill, stop reading novels on my elliptical, and stop lifting 3-lb free weights with obnoxious grunts and sighs.

And one more thing. When we are in the locker room tete-a-tete (Me: changing modestly from under a towel, You: poised nude and proud for conversation, going on about the good old days in the City and how you longed for a good steam session at the end of a crazy week because Lord! it is like dessert, laugh laugh chuckle chuckle skin flying everywhere, oh what a life you lived!), please for the love of God stop acting as though we've transcended societal norms, as if this nudist chat is somehow "normal".

It.

Is.

Not.

Dear February, I feel squished. Make it go away.