Headlines of “Woman Found Smothered with Bosu Ball in Chelsea Gym” circulate in my head. I get officially creeped out and decide the laws of probability prevent me from dodging that particular bullet again. Maybe hotel room yoga is the way to go.
You got all the way up here with no problem, and you’re exhausted and have to pee, which generally means the key card in your travel-germy hand is not going to work. You will insert it into the door every which way, first gingerly and gradually harder until finally you gently and with resignation rest your head on the door and let out a nice long F_______K.
While we don’t need scented candles and slimming mirrors, we DO need deep stalls and soap dispensers that work. We need doors that open OUT and that do not have a 3 inch gap allowing curious eyes to gaze at our squat. We need cup holders for our lattes and shelves on which we can place our shoulder bags, we need to avoid that questionable liquid on the floor (urine or dropped water bottle?)
I need to stop doing this to myself and stick with my ridiculously expensive mediocre martini in an uncomfortable tallboy chair and just wait out my layover like everyone else. Essie, work on a shade called “Missed Connections,” I’ll buy it in bulk.
I want to believe you that I can roll it into a ball, leave it overnight, and then shake it out in the morning and wear it to my board meeting. I want to believe you that it’s unique magical poly cotton rayon lycra goretex blend will be soft and comfy and not itchy on my 15 hour flight to Shanghai.