The fiction story

Every Monday: The Diary of the Espresso Woman. Part 6.

So, back to real life. My boyfriend has gone back to London where his new job is and I am here alone. Unemployed, by the way.

When you hear the word “unemployed”, what comes to your mind first? I picture a middle-aged man sitting in front of TV and drinking beer. Obviously that’s not me (’cause I don’t really like beer that much).

The second image that comes to my mind is a woman on her way home with heavy shopping bags in both hands. “If she’s unemployed how does she have money to buy two bags full of groceries?” you ask. Well, I have no idea but this is the picture I have in my head.

By the way, my friend’s elderly father had once said that a woman is most sexy when she is walking in high heels with a heavy shopping bag in both hands. Well, when you think about it, it makes sense. High heels are sexy. I see the woman in a miniskirt, although I suspect that initially it was not mentioned and I have maybe added the miniskirt part myself.

Anyway, equally weighted shopping bags in each hand would give you nice balance if you were in high heels and it would also make you walk holding yourself really straight up. Good posture is always sexy, so yes, it all makes total sense to me. At least I remember this every time I have to walk home on high heels with heavy shopping bag in each hand and it always makes me smile.

But I am not going shopping today. I will go to the gym as I need to loose weight for the upcoming party in London!

I am not overweight or something, it’s just that I don’t look fabulous at the moment. And you have to look fabulous if you plan to attend a company anniversary party in London. A party where your fresh boyfriend’s young woman boss is present.

“What does that woman boss have to do with anything?” you ask.

It has to do with everything. See, we are always in a competition. The bad thing is that it is not the Olympics and it is not fair play. There are no rules and most of the time you don’t even know that you are competing! But it’s good to keep it in mind.  Stay alert.

And now I am heading to the gym even as we speak!

**************************

I used to be a real gym bunny years ago. It was the oh-so-good times when working out in the gym meant lifting weights and there wasn’t any of the fancy equipment and women were a rare thing to be seen there. It was mostly men’s playground and it was not so crowded.

Yep, I had forgotten how crowded the place was! The lockers in the changing room are so narrow that I have to push my stuff in and pull it out – feels like working out already!

There’s a woman on my left and a woman on my right. One of them smells badly and the other one’s ass is constantly in my face when I try to get changed.

It’s not very much better once I get to the gym. It’s loaded with people! They have rearranged everything since I last came here and hence I feel like a newcomer which I hate. I used to know my way around here and I used to be a regular. How dare they lower me to the rookie status again!?

I decide to start with the rowing machine. It feels like I have been rowing across the Channel and back but the timer shows that it’s only been 3 minutes! You got to be kidding me… I’m so tired already!

The time starts moving faster once I decide to watch the show on the TV above. It’s about two men buying old cars, fixing them up and selling them. Suddenly I notice that I’ve been rowing for 20 minutes already! I should head downstairs where the rest of the equipment is but the men on the show have just made a really bad deal buying an wreck of a Mustang and now I want to know if they can get it fixed up to sell it for a nice fat amount… I hate it how they build up these shows – you just get carried away and can’t stop watching!

I decided to stop anyway. Which means I’ll never know what happened to the Mustang

I literally stumble down the stairs. I don’t understand why the warming up equipment has to be on the top floor. My knees are week from rowing and I hold tight to the handrail as I’m afraid of falling down head first.

Once luckily on the first floor I look around. And what do I see! I’m used to the men in muscles in the gym but I’d forgotten that the girls here have buns of steel! Or are they all wearing special push-up pants? I can’t help staring at one girl’s tight ass. It’s just so unreal.

OK, I came here to do my own thing. I remember my routine, I know what I need to do. I grab the weights and look in the mirror… I really need to get some new clothes for working out. Mine seem to be from another age. Frumpy and faded. But shouldn’t this show that I’ve been going to the gym for a long time? Looking at my body it obviously doesn’t. I mean – where have my muscles gone?

********************

Congratulations! I have finished my first session and I feel triumphant. I head to the locker room.

It seems that working out really does clear your head. It’s the kind of locker room where you have to remember the number of your locker and I have no idea what it was. There are hundreds of them. OK, think baby, think. I do find my locker after the third try. Like magic!

There’s a woman on my left again and her ass is in my face. And her buns are not made of steel either… I hate locker rooms.

**********************

On my way home I get a new call for a job interview. This is a huge possibility. I feel my knees getting even weaker.

What a proactive (I hate this word, by the way) and productive (this word is even worse – what is productive, anyway?) Monday I have had! I’m so proud of myself. I sit at my kitchen table and pour myself a cup of coffee. The black gold. With no milk. ’cause I’m the Espresso Woman. Here’s to Mondays (and cute boyfriends, excellent jobs and buns of steel). Cheers!

To be continued next Monday.

 

 

 

 

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