You are the DB at the gym that I see every day at 6 a.m. We notice when you aren’t there because, for you, it’s apparently all a competition about who can look the best, parade around in tiny spandex sports bras at 45 years old, and say hi to the most people or have the most people say hello to you. You go to the gym looking like a scared, wet rat done up in your makeup, with multiple hairclips holding your perfectly groomed ponytail of bleached, thinning hair. I am positive you have no friends outside of our gym and that people cringe when you arrive at the top of the stairs, bracing themselves, hoping they will not fall victim to being next to you on the stair-stepper and have to listen to your less-than-amusing rants. Do us all a favor and GET A GRIP! The gym is not a nightclub, and these people are not your friends!
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