I recently signed up for the gym again. I’ve been going two or three times a week, and am just starting to feel a little more comfortable among the grunting, sweaty behemoths and the girls with the beautiful arms. Today I noticed a young 20-something man looking my way as I stretched some sore muscles. He approached, and I assumed he was going to tell me I was doing something incorrectly.
“Hi. Are you Jared’s grandma?” he asked.
While my confidence and ego began to quietly implode, I heard my voice say, “What?”
So he repeated himself. “Are you Jared’s grandma?”
I think I smiled one of those mouth smiles when your eyes don’t move. “No, no grand children yet.”
GRAND effing MA??
He went on. “Wow, her hair is just like yours. You look just like her!”
What is one supposed to say?
“Nope. Not yet.” More fakey smile.
He went back to his 4,000 bar bell, and I told myself this was no reason to go straight home to bed. It took some serious talk to do another 60 seconds of plank and 30 more crunches before heading to the bike.
I began to rationalize. The guy must’ve been mid-twenties… his friend Jared would’ve be about the same… born when I was 25, which meant I would have had Jared’s mom or dad when I was what…12?
The only explanation I could conceive was that, clearly, the young man was an idiot, and his mother hadn’t taught him, 1) Never ask a woman if she is pregnant, and 2) Never ask a woman who is younger than 80 if she’s someone’s grandmother.
I have decided I need to ensure my own boys are aware of such indiscretions, as I’d hate to make another 50 year old woman feel the way I did.
I will also be calling my hair stylist, first thing tomorrow morning.