The She Doesn't Have Wrinkles Incident

I Jazzercise. You might be asking yourself is it the '80s? Nope. Although one of my biggest regrets is that I was born about 7 years too late to go to high school during the '80s. I would have rocked legwarmers with jeans, side ponytails, and blue eye shadow. Instead I got to go to high school during the '90s and be grunge. Which I, sadly, did not rock.

Anyways....

I Jazzercise. Mock if you must, but it's awesome. It's a fantastic, high energy workout that involves dancing and great music. And you can't bring your kid, husband, dog, or students. Enough said.

After almost a year of classes through the community center, I joined the actual Jazzercise center around the corner from my house. It's in the same parking lot as an IHOP. I'm still trying to get used to working out while smelling syrup and bacon.

So, I go to my 3rd class, which was also my first Saturday class. I know no one, and spend most of class trying to avoid making eye contact with the many older women, especially the one wearing a neon pink leotard and black tights. Neon. Pink. My eyes....ouch. And to answer your question, no, I do not wear a leotard, pink or any other color, or leg warmers, or a headband. Most people just wear regular gym clothes, including me, I swear. Leotards are few and far between. Thank goodness.

It just so happened to be a breast cancer fundraiser class, so, like any good fundraiser, there's a door prize. Towards the end of class, the instructor starts talking up this basket that's been sitting at the front, practically floating away because of the ginormous pink balloons tied to its handle. Like any good student, I crouch down and check my text messages, tuning out whatever she had to say about the basket. I didn't remember putting my name in any raffle, so why would I listen?

Then I hear my first name get called. I go by a nickname, so I glanced around the room hoping to see some 50 year old woman clad in bad Lycra jump up and down excitedly. Nope. She calls the name again. Oh fuck. It's me. I dropped my phone, slowly stood up, and raised my hand, while trying to make myself as small as possible, hoping by some miracle there's someone else with that same name raising their hand on the other side of the room. No such luck.

The instructor looked at me, SUPER excited to have me leave my safe little corner and make my way to the front of the room to collect my fabulous prize. Immediately, 3 woman shouted out in perfect unison "SHE DOESN'T HAVE ANY WRINKLES". Great. The one time I get a comment on how young I look it's when I'm winning what is apparently a basket of wrinkle creams.

I accept my prize, balloons, pink ribbon, cellophane wrapper and all, then make my way back to my safe little corner, praying I don't get jumped on my way there. I contemplate just handing the thing off to the first wrinkly lady I see, mostly out of fear, but figure that would be both insulting to the recipient and the instructor. I manage to make it safely, complete the last routine, and when class ended, practically sprinted out of there.

Upon getting home, I opened up the basket to see the goods. Rather than a few bottles of lotion, there's this vibrator-like contraption with a bunch of bottles. WTF? Inside is a note saying the package is valued at $400!!! Holy shit! So, naturally, my first thought is EBAY HERE I COME!

Alas, at my next class a few days later, the instructor corners me and tells me all about how great this system is and blah blah blah and consult with her about my fine lines around my eyes and blah blah blah and she'll call me to set up a time for her to teach me how to use it...Damn it. There go my Ebay dreams.

So here I sit. Overweight. Gray hairs. Bad skin. But wrinkle-free (except for those damned fine lines). With a $400 basket of something resembling a vibrator and a bunch of bottles that will apparently cure my barely existent wrinkles. Sweet.