Another girl came in to get weighed, and she had that "I'm being a daredevil for my boyfriend so he'll ask me to marry him" vibe about her. Now, I'm going to be bitchy, but I feel that I have the right (you will, too, I believe.) She's shorter than me, petite, but in that soft, no muscle tone kind of way. Flat chested. Not that there's anything wrong with that, it's just an observation I make. (Triangle legs with no definition.) I jokingly cover my eyes and back away, because let's face it: we girls don't like to advertise our weight.
She laughs a bit, then wags her finger at me and says, "Uh oh, you left your weight up here! Now I know that you're 135!"
The hell? Good thing I'm not conscientious about that. Then she says smugly, "I'm only 132. Ha."
I almost ALMOST said, "Well, boobs and muscle weigh more than little boy chests and flab. Also, you're two inches shorter than me, so..."
But I didn't, because I'm a fu*&ing lady. I mean, honestly. Who does that? And now, I'm going to go eat my delicious lunch after burning 760 calories in my workout. And then I'm booking jump #2 for the weekend after next. THAT IS HOW I ROLL.
[Off topic, I got an iPhone for my birthday, and guys, I'm so phone stupid it's not even funny. I wanted to trade in my blackjack for a Jitterbug. LOL. But I LOOOOVE it. Now I need apps! Isn't there one for Kindle? I got a facebook one, one for LJ, and... what else do I want? Teach me, oh wise, hip flist.]