He may get off on the endorphins, he may love the rush, but only true freaks love the gym. I hate the gym. I hate driving there after a day of work; never mind that I work from home I still hate it. I hate the stupid outfit I wear, the special shoes I had to buy and the drinks they sell at the bar. Bar my ass, it’s a place for the actor/barista to spy on us then dish over soy crap lattes. The worst part is that I’m still at the age where I don’t have to go to the gym. I’m fit without trying, the blessing of being Asian. Call it a stereotype, but statistics don’t lie. Unfortunately, one day being trim won’t be easy and I don’t want to wait until then to get used to making myself unhappy. If I were coupled and deeply in love, I would let myself get a little soft. Alas, love hasn’t found me yet. So here I am, at the gym, miserable. Some info on me: I’m average height (when any man says that it means he’s a little short) with long dark hair and Thai skin. Think coffee with light cream Thai.
