Bonjour Darlings, back at "sport" this week and I was reminded of some of the chronic offenders that bother/amuse me while I am suffering on the treadmill. The majority are wardrobe infractions, etiquette infractions, attitude infractions, odor infractions...ok, fine there are a multitude, I dare say, a plethora of scenarios that chap my hide while I am trying to get my sport on.
The following CMO calls out half of a duo that I have dubbed "the two Louis". I find it helpful to name these characters whose presence I endure week after week, instead of simply referring to them as Douche #1, Douche #2, etc.
Dear Retired Fellow aka Louis,
I'm no "fitness expert", but I'm fairly certain that leaning on the lat machine for thirty minutes bullshitting about the football results (US: soccer) with your cronies and oggling women in spandex is not considered "working out". Even in France. Just a tip.
Cordially, Miss O
Hold on a minute, Miss O, I thought admiring women was the national sport of your adopted country. True that, but there is a time and a place for this illustrious activity. The time...actually, it's 24/7. The place, however, is important. Why do you think there are so many cafes where one can sit en terrasse, even in the dead of winter? The cafe society was created so that people, men, could sit outside and smoke and look at women. C'est simple. In Italy, the natives became restless sitting in one place with limited viewing options, and so the Vespa was born. In France, les terrasses are extensive so one never has to leave the comfort of their table. Hmmm, maybe there is a "Miss O Travel Guide" series in the making here...
Miss O, your cultural companion.
