I’m banning workout clothes from my everyday life due to a heinous crime of odorous proportions.

I went to the gym early in the morning, returned home, showered, and put a new pair of gym clothes on because I work from home on Fridays. Why stretch pants? Well, because I wear workout clothes like a uniform. Nurses have scrubs, artists have smocks, and I have stretch pants.

Oh, you need me to sit at a desk and type? Good thing I have my stretch pants on! You need me to run an errand? Good thing I have my stretch pants on! I’m suppose to look moderately healthy and like I care about physical activity? Good thing I have my stretch pants on!

See? Stretch pants are my thing!

At the end of my work day I had to run to the market to pick up some items for dinner [Good thing I had my stretch pants on!]. I found the aisle I was looking for and pushed my rickety metal cart down the aisle when I was assaulted by the worst body odor imaginable. Think junior high boys… after PE… in the summer… on a bus… with no windows. It. Was. That. Bad.

There were only two people in the aisle besides me. One was an Orange County mom and her perfectly coiffed daughter. The other was a business woman stacking cans her her basket. Option 1: I could make an ugly face and point fingers at who I thought smelled, or 2. I could pretend I didn’t smell anything, get my food, and leave. Option 2 was what I chose. Until…

The OC mom and the mini-me version of herself looked at ME [in my workout clothes] and made a vomit inducing face like I WAS THE ONE WHO SMELLED?!

I really wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole because body odor is like one of the seven deadly sins to me. No, really, ask Matt. I’m constantly smelling the house, his head, and the pillows to make sure it smells like Febreze or some synthetic Hawaiian beach breeze. Couple this horror with the fact that my married initials are B.O., I’m extra sensitive to body odor.

The mom and daughter duo rounded the corner and shook their heads in disbelief. The mom uttered, Wow! Someone needs to take a shower. I wanted to say, It’s not me. I promise! I know it looks like I’m coming from the gym, but this—this right here—is my uniform! I promise!

But I’m a thirty year old grown woman who isn’t going to yell in the Ralph’s supermarket. So, what did my mature 30ish self do? I made it a point to find her and her daughter and prove them wrong. Yup, I stalked each aisle until I found the SweetSmellingSniffers in the baking aisle. [Of course their in the baking aisle! They can eat whatever they want and STILL not have their thighs touch!]

It's storytime with B!

I breeze down the aisle quickly then stop at the end like I was looking for the perrrrfect Betty Crocker cake I’ll never eat. Then I hmmph! like I couldn’t find it and brush past them again quickly so my clean, unscented self would let them know, Hey, look at me! I don’t smell! See! It was the other lady!

This? This right here? This is my life and why I’m banning workout clothes when I go to the market or anywhere in public. So whether or not you’ve been the false victim in a heinous odorous crime or not, I know I’m not the only one who’s stooped to stupidity to prove a point.

It’s true. Don’t leave me hanging.

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