Let me preface all of this with “I bought a bikini.” Why? Because I hate my friends, I guess. We’re going on a little trip which is coincidentally the weekend of my 35th birthday. The departure from the coveted “28-34 year old” demographic brought on a lot of “feelings”, for example: if I’m old enough to both president of the US and ‘advanced maternal age’, why am I failing at both?
Obvious solutions are to run for office while getting pregnant, but I lack the
dishonesty people skills and clean criminal record to be a politician and don’t want to try for a family before going on a 400 mile bike trip/honeymoon, so I had to settle for buying a bikini that is too small because, you know, nothing makes you feel young like a muffin top, bottom, midsection, and side.
To be fair, I am a size small up top. To be unfair, I am not a size small on the bottom. Thanks, God! A wise woman would have chosen a top and bottom in different sizes, an impatient woman buys both in a small and joins a fight club at her gym to make up the difference, ideally in four weeks. Anyway, I am apologizing in advance to my road trip friends, my husband and anyone who hangs out at Banneker Pool. Sorry guys! I’ll try to build some muscle in the next 21 days and, failing that, I’ll try to sculpt some abs with self tanner. What could go wrong?
Well plenty. First of all, the
fight club fitness class I wanted to take is $199 for 8 sessions. That’s all fine and good, but we’re paying off the last bits of our wedding while saving for a honeymoon and possibly a house not to mention louche lifestyles for our imaginary children and of course, my impending presidential campaign. A $30 Target bikini quickly becomes outrageously expensive if you have to sell your few remaining eggs to fit into it. LUCKILY I got an email soliciting participants in a paid “adult beverages” study, the honorarium for which was $200. Yes that’s right. I’m not just breaking even I’M MAKING A DOLLAR. Obviously, I signed up for both immediately, qualifying for the beverages study by claiming to love beer in an online quiz, and for the fitness class by having a heartbeat and paying $199.
What happened next was freaking magical. A man named Walter called me up at work to certify that I was a good candidate for the beer study. WHY WOULDN’T I BE? Oh yeah, because I might try to get pregnant in the next six months. Any other reservations Walter? Oh yeah, because I don’t really drink beer that much. But, it’s cool because I lied about all of it. If you go back to the tapes (and apparently there are tapes, for quality assurance) you will have me on the record claiming that the only thing equal to my love of beer is my hatred of children. That I drink approximately 50 beers a month, and that my opinion about “when is a good time to enjoy a craft beer” is “any time after five p.m., so, really, right now Walter.”
When asked if I like to drink Harp, I chirped “oh yeah, I drank at least 5 of those recently…”
“Just five?” he broke in.
“I meant 10 of those, on that holiday… what is it? Irish people like it?”
“St. Patrick’s Day?” Walter asked helpfully.
“Yeah, that! It’s hard for me to remember… because of all the beers.”
Needless to say, I qualified. Next stop on my agenda was to go ahead and get moving on my fight club membership. Holy crap is that class hard. There are burpees, split squats and “jumping lunges” which sounds like a creature that might try to kill you in Australia. I hate all of them, but love the way these exercises torch through the calories in the beer I’m NOT ACTUALLY DRINKING NOW, because Walter called the day before the beer study was supposed to start and kicked me out of it. He said the search parameters had changed. Did someone love beer harder than I pretended to? I’m probably just too old, but my takeaway from the conversation was, “do not pass Go, do not collect $200 you lying sack of lies.” I told you I wouldn’t be a good politician, Walter saw through my s*** and now I am left holding a bag of jump ropes, twice a week, at the cost of $24.875 a pop. This is my Watergate and I never even got to be Prez. Someone kill me!
Was I steamed? You better believe it. Here’s the email I wrote them directly from my office account. Since I’d already done the phone interview regarding my excessive beer consumption in front of my coworkers, it seemed like a prudent choice.
I was just informed that I am “no longer needed” for a beverage study that is scheduled for Monday. I’ve already asked to leave work early, and was kind of counting on the money for my fight club dues. I am extremely disappointed about this late notice. Who was the client? I’d like to know so I never drink their dumb beers again!
Then again, this may another exhibition of the poor judgment standing between me and the Oval Office. Whatever! I’ll be able to do a chin up and at least I’m allowed to be the president, unlike the wannabe American Governator.