I hate you, blond girl. Maybe.

So Monday marked the beginning of my return to physical activity. I went to gym for the first time in about a year. (A YEAR, people! I have no excuse. That's pretty embarrassing.) I had mixed feelings about this: excited about working out and nervous about operating my new mommy body in public.

Well.

I changed and was getting ready to leave the locker room when this girl from the office trots out of the changing area to go work out, too. She's about my height and maybe half my weight. She's going to work out in makeup and a skin-tight Jagermeister tank top she obviously got from when she used to work at some strip club. She gets onto the treadmill and starts running without even putting her blond hair into a ponytail. Come on! She probably doesn't sweat.

So while I was feeling all grumpy about huffing and puffing next to Queen Barbie, I had an epiphany. This is really the best case scenario for my first time back to the gym. I looked around and realized that every pair of eyes was on her. Yes! I was working out in virtual solitude. The elliptical machine could have ricocheted me into the weights and nobody would have batted any eye.

So thank you, blond girl, for being the best decoy ever.