I recently searched the world wide warp for wearable workout clothing. My eyes began to roll around in their sockets. I quickly became dizzy and disoriented. Once I kum ba yah’d to my safe place, I weighed my available what to wear options. I was thinking Nike, Adidas, or even a fancy Lulu Lemon getup. Little did I know that the science behind spandex procurement was as complex as my college physics class with Dr. Feelgood. Below are things I learned during my quest for performance enhancing paraphernalia.

  • Test – Yes. You read that correctly. On more than one shopping site, I had to take a test: name, email, physical build, yoga, runner, schlepper, faker, wannabe, etc. Only after my privacy had been invaded was I allowed to look at boob bands and thigh thinners. Men, beware. You will have to take the quiz as well, but sensitive measurements are not requested.
  • Cost – Who says that value is dead? [No, really – who says that?] You can order a “VIP” workout suit for as little as $25. However, you must order north of $49 to get free shipping. Drats! Now you have to buy 2 suits. This is the lycra equivalent of the hot dog bun conspiracy. Go ahead and buy a pack of 10 hot dogs. Then curse your way to the checkout with 2 eight-packs of buns. You must buy 40 hot dogs and 5 packs of buns to finally get your slawdogs to equal out. It’s a racket, chicks and dudes!
  • Sleep Mode – If you slip in a power nap at the wheel after ordering your VIP suit, your account goes on “you snooze – you lose” auto-ship. You will receive a shiny new elastic exercise ensemble month after month. How many suits does one need to work out? Last time I ordered something on auto-ship, I ended up with enough shampoo to wash a herd of Oklahoma  buffalo for a year.
  • Returns – After I bought one of these little gems, imagine my shock when I learned that you cannot return it if you remove that creepy little adhesive sticker from the inside crotch seam. Have you ever tried on bikini bottoms with your granny panties so you don’t actually touch the petri dish stuck on the inside of the swimsuit? I can also speak from personal experience that you CANNOT charm, coerce, compel, or bully the spandex spokeswoman into a refund if you do not return the suit with said creepy decal in perfect working order.

Since I only work out on the specific Wednesdays when my zodiac sign is in Taurus moon rising mid-horizon overcast cappuccino lunar landing, I really only need one outfit to pump iron. Guess I’m stuck with my bleached yoga pants and Led Zeppelin t-shirt. Not to worry though – I’ll know when I’m on that devil known as the elliptical Stairway to Heaven, pounds are melting away, but my bank account is intact and secure.


Sherrie’s Always Write

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