Match Game

“Everything OK today?” my personal trainer asks, looking me up and down.

“It’s great!” I reply, deciding not to mention the mocha frozen yogurt I scarfed down the day before.  For that matter, she doesn’t need to know about the soft pretzel with all that delightful salt I inhaled when I took my grandson to the zoo two days ago.

It is a constant mystery to her why I don’t lose weight.

“Feeling all right?”

“Of course!” 

“You’re sure?” 

I lie on the Pilates reformer (or, as I prefer to call it, the Deformer), my legs twirling above me like a drunken ballerina.  Then I see it.  The reason she is suspicious.  My socks don’t match.  At all.  Speaking of drunken . .

I try to think up an excuse but decide to just act like it is perfectly normal for me to have one blue sock and one orange sock.  Is there an athletic team I can pretend to be a fan of?

I rush home and sort through my sock drawer.  Ha!  She won’t catch me doing that again!

“Everything OK today?” she asks at my next session.  In a panic, I scan my socks (matching).  My outfit (reasonably matching).  Is it my makeup?  I glance nonchalantly in the mirror and see that my eye makeup isn’t trailing down my cheeks like a 70s rock star.

Confident now, I straighten my back and begin to push and pull as if I’m 50 again.  Maybe 55.

“Any extra stress at home?” she asks. 

I smile through the sweat to show her my life is completely under control.  I am rocking my life.  People respect me.  My children worship me.  Everyone wants to be me.

I hop off the machine and thank her for another great session.  My head held high, I march toward the door, certain I have been her star student today.

I study my reflection in the mirror to admire my wonderful self and then I stop.

Son of a biscuit!

My earrings don’t match.