The gym cougars are always in full hair and make-up. They wear the latest Nike's and strap i-pod nanos to their forearms. They get the young guys to spot them on free-weights or to hold the boxing bag. They're seemingly oblivious to wrinkled skin on their inner arms, or the wattle on the back of their thighs. I've got to be honest, I am fascinated: it's like watching your mum get drunk on sherry and can-can at your engagement party.
This cougar's wearing teeny-weenie tie-dyed booty shorts and a matching vest. For those of you who don't know what booty shorts are - check out any rap video happening poolside. Those tiny little short shaped bikini bottoms ... dem's booty shorts.
She mounts one of those big inflated gym balls, centres herself, lays back and splays her legs into a wide V. I'm trapped, sitting about three feet away and facing her ... eye to eye with her va-jay-jay. I'm a bit panicked, what do I do, shall I move - no I'll just brazen it out, take a yoga stance of no judgement.
Then La Cougar starts crunching away energetically, and suddenly a lip pops out. A shiny bit of girly lip. I got such a fright I choked on my own spit. It took me a good few minutes to pull myself back together, and when I looked back (WHY, WHY, WHY did I look back??) she caught my eye and smiled holding my glance for just a second too long.
I'm still in shock. What now? I can't go back. I'm going to have to avoid the gym for a while. And what if she greets me when I do see her next?
