So I belong to Female Fitness, a women's only gym in my town.
It's great because you don't have to listen to men sounding like they're herniating themselves with the free weights. And you don't have to feel self-conscious about looking like three shades of shit before, during and after a workout, as I tend to.
The only males that frequent the place are usually pre-school age and heading for the baby-sitting room. Rare is the moment when a man enters, and then it's usually only to check on the plumbing or air conditioning. They carry a tool box, are escorted by one of the associates and keep their heads down.
Last week, however, a man -- a dad-and-husband-type man -- was standing in the middle of the gym, looking around. Appreciatively. Which his wife didn't seem to appreciate.
Wife: "This is a women's only gym."
Wife: "So... you have to leave!"
Man, continuing to take in the view: "It's not illegal for me to be here."
Wife: "Just GET OUT!"
Not one other club member took pause or even gave their exchange a first glance, nevermind a raised eyebrow. You know why? If Chuck E. Cheese is where a kid can be a kid, then a women's-only gym is where a woman can be a woman. We're not waiting on anybody, we're not cleaning something, we're not soothing somebody. And we're definitely NOT on display trying to impress anybody!
Which reminds me: the dude that was crackin' wise about my Zumba ability? I have to go lay down the law with that 4-year-old.