Excuse me. Ahem. Pardon me, Gentlemen of the 'Y'.
Yes, you over there, with the JoePa glasses. I'm addressing you.
Psssst... you with the tufted gray hair hiding under that ball cap. And you with the comb-over that's fooling no one. You too, with the jet black I'm-not-sure-if-it's-a-toup-or-not scalp accoutrement.
I need to have a word with you.
So please, step away from the tricep machine and the water fountain and the stationary bike and stop flirting with the cute female personal trainers and join me.
Dudes of a certain age, I applaud you and your efforts to maintain your physical fitness. You're doing a great job and working so hard. Really. Although it does makes me laugh to see you all hop on the cardio machines when the gym TV showing CNBC cuts to anything stock market related. Not sure that in this economy, that's a good combination, especially where your blood pressure's concerned. But whatever.
Give yourselves a round of applause for focusing on your health.
However. This little gathering is not about your workout achievements.
It's about what you wear when you come to sweat with the oldies (present company -- me -- excluded.)
Let's start with your upper body attire. You there -- Harold, is it? You're fine in your Fox and Hound Tavern t-shirt. Got that on an elderhostel trip through the UK, did you? Very nice.
However, you two -- Millard and Arthur. Hanes undershirts are just not acceptable in this instance. Especially that thin v-neck one you've got on, Art. Can I call you Art? Thanks. That might be fine for an après-work cocktail in your den... at home. But you're out in public, man. Show a little pride in yourself, even here at the Y.
Millard, I just don't know what to say. That shirt, combined with your dark socks and sneakers does make for quite a look. Not a good one, by the way.
But... what we really need to discuss -- delicately, I might add -- is your lower body wear.
It's very simple, gentlemen. When wearing sweatpants, one must consider what one wears underneath one's apparel.
Much like when we women wear satin or Lycra (not that I wear satin very often, and haven't since I had to don the more-than-occasional bridesmaid dress for the myriad weddings I was an attendant in during the late '80s which was usually cheap satin and an ugly color and I call BS on ever being able to wear it again -- Melissa's mom, I'm talking to you -- and by the way that awful comb with flowers on it looked ridiculous in my Pat Benetar-short hair and... I digress), you must consider the sort of support garment you need to wear under such unforgiving material.
I'm not interested in seeing that much of you, frankly. Even in outline. I think I speak for the rest of the women here. Even that really mean lady who gave me the stink eye yesterday for getting on the treadmill next to her -- the ONLY empty one at the time -- when she was trying to "hold" it for her friend who showed up 10 minutes later. Bitch, please. You are not the Queen of the Y. I'm just sayin'.
You know, you can get just as good a workout in shorts. Nice, flattering, modest shorts -- not the 1980s NBA shorty-shorts, though. Something mid-thigh and not too tight. I know they sell such things. I've seen them. In stores, even.
In conclusion, gentlemen, keep on working hard. But take a look in the mirror before you leave the house and head to the gym. Make sure Millard's Filmore is appropriately in seclusion. Consider it your public service contribution.
Thank you. See you 'round the water fountain.