There’s a girl in your yoga class who wears those Lululemon pants with the fold-over waist like the Almighty cast them himself for her nimble frame. As she performs downward dog, you can’t concentrate on your breathing, even though that’s all you’re supposed to be doing. After a month of catching glimpses of her in class, you notice her on the elliptical. But something’s changed. She’s glistening with beauty. No, fucktard, she’s sweating and spent. She just ran for 45 minutes and she stinks and doesn’t want to talk to you. She’s working. Instead of stammering something about how impressed you are with her poise, keep your ideas to yourself.
The only exception to this rule is the woman in full makeup, including mascara, slow-strutting on the treadmill like it’s her own tiny runway. She definitely wants you to speak with someone.