An open letter to the annoying girl in my spin class. Again.

Hello there. Again.

I realize that this time I goofed up. I spoke to you first. But that was to tell you to not ride the bike that was out of order, since you clearly cannot read. It was not an invitation for you to sit next to me, thus putting all four of the people in the class in a row. Thank God I have enough good sense to sit on the end. Speaking of good sense,

I do admire the change in your attire and that your hair is looking much better these days, but you're still a chatty Kathy and that just has to stop. I cannot talk and spin. Mostly because as stated before I am working HARD.

Stop trying to be cute. She clearly said "Abs" because when the instructor refers to our "Ass" she calls it "Glutes." If I didn't know any better I would think you were hitting on me. But you're clearly hetero because you've got progeny.

And must you continue to mention your children? Are you trying to give my uterus a complex? Seriously? I DO NOT CARE THAT YOU HAVE CHILDREN.

NO NO NO! I do not care! Just shut up and go away! YOU SMELL FUNNY ANYWAYS! ALTHOUGH THAT'S PROBABLY THE SCENT OF YOUR UTERUS BEING USED! SINCE YOU CLEARLY HAVE CHILDREN! AND I OBVIOUSLY DO NOT! YOU'VE PROBABLY GOT ANOTHER CHILD GROWING IN THAT WOMB-O-PLENTY. IF YOU WERE A CHICKEN YOU WOULD BE ONE OF THOSE CHICKENS THAT LAYS DOUBLE EGGS BECAUSE YOU'RE SUPER FERTILE OR SOMETHING. QUIT TALKING TO ME! I CANNOT TALK and SPIN at the same time!

REMEMBER THE STROKE! Oh look! I'M HAVING ANOTHER ONE.

EGHGHHHH HUUUNNNNH EEEWWWWWUUUUUU
Translation: I hate you. I hate you for reminding me that my love life is non-functional and for reminding me that I am no closer to having children than the last time you were here. I hate you for being here. I hate you for being ugly and having a horrible fashion sense. Couldn't you just go away and pick a different class? Why didn't you come to the earlier class? Why do you continue to talk to me when I clearly do not talk back to you?

WWWHHHHHHIIIIUUUUNNNNNHHHHHH
Translation: Oh god.


NNNNNNNNNUUUUUUUUUUIIIIIIIIII GGGGGGNNNNNN
Translation: Maury Povich called. He thinks he's found your third child's baby daddy. He's narrowed the search down to the last 14 people you've slept with. His production crew never could find that circus carney with the three teeth and vestigial leg. No offense to circus carneys.

No, there's no need to call the ambulance. I'm okay. Really. Although, if you aren't going to use that workout towel can I use it to wipe the blood out of my ears?

Sincerely,
Anna