What the Hell is She Doing?

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Published on Tuesday, 26 May 2009 04:08

Written by John Romano

South Florida is an interesting place. For many reasons.  One of those reasons that always fascinates me is the incredible amount of wealth concentrated down here and the lengths certain people will go to get it. For those who have it, the next most interesting thing is watching them trying to get what they want with it, especially when the price tag is measured in audacity and not dollars.  The following is a kind of funny story about wealth, privilege, audacity and desire.

I was riding my bike to the gym one day and nearly got clipped by a late model Mercedes Benz SL 550 piloted by a rather big breasted, big haired, blonde.  She was looking into her rearview mirror, putting on her make up, instead of looking at the road - or at me.  The call was so close that I was sure I'd been plucked out of harms way by my guardian angle.  I actually felt part of the car graze my leg. When I looked up at the driver after she passed all I could see were two giant red lips in her rearview mirror, backed up with a blast of Lincoln Park and a blonde ponytail sticking out of an Ed Hardy baseball cap.  She never saw me.  I'd dare say a ding in sugar daddy's Benz nor my life couldn't have meant a hill of beans to her - good face is everything, right?  How disconcerting it must be to have the nuisance of driving a car safely interrupt the application of one's make up.

Now, most of the women I know who drive while putting on their make up start the process practically in the drive way.  This nut was a block from the gym when her Mercedes nearly shattered my hip and still at it!  Had she not stopped at the gym she might have kept on going - putting on make up until she ran out of gas.

I rode up to the gym and locked my bike to a signpost outside the front door when the very same blonde passed by on her way to the gym entrance.  I used the occasion to check her out and see just how well kept she was.  Yup, she had it all going on all right - the hair, the nose, the lips, the teeth, the tits, the clothes, the nails, the jewelry, the car, the sunglasses.  She was blinged up with trinkets and baubles far beyond mortal women.  Yes, this lass appeared to be special.  Well, to someone she was. As far as I was concerned the bimbo nearly killed me.  And what the hell is she doing all gussied up like that going to the gym?  To train?  I don't think so.  This fox looked ready to hunt.

Now, far be it from me to malign a hard working successful woman who might sport the fruits of her success.  Success and intellect is an absolute turn-on and I tip my hat to anyone in this world who makes good - especially a woman.  But, at 11:00 in the morning executives and entrepreneurs are hard at work. This babe wore a neon sign that said "bought and paid for." She had such a rock on her finger it made her lean to the left, and every time she started to chew her gum she stopped dead in her tracks.  She had to be all of 25 - a corporate rock star she was not.  No, this was one of those girls that, like the old song by the Commodores goes - is really built, she knows how to please, she's enough to bring a strong man to his knees...  and make him buy her everything.

So why am I bothering with this trashy Barbie incarnate?  Okay, she nearly killed me, but I was over that.  She did, however, otherwise annoy the hell out of me......

I'd started my workout and had been at it a while when I looked over and saw the same girl a couple of stations over from me doing this bizarre thing with a pull-down machine.  She was standing, facing the machine, legs together and bent precariously at the waist.  Holding the bar about shoulder's width above and in front of her head, she would pull the bar down while arching her back enough to have the bar meet her ample, saline-filled chest.  She was clad in only the tightest of short spandex, and working the move a tad more provocatively with each rep - mashing the bar into her big titties and sticking up her butt.  Damn! Let me tell you, I've paid good money for far less of a show.

I hadn't.

The lawyer told me that he knew this bimbo, and that she was in fact married to an ailing older gentleman.  So, she was trolling all right - but for an entirely different kind of fish.  The bodybuilder dude was admiring himself in the mirror too intently to have noticed the damsel, so she tried a little harder with her next rep.  From where he was sitting, the bodybuilder was due to be staring right at her award winning glutes just as soon as she bent over - if he'd only look.  She at least knew that much, and she gave it her all.

As she started her next rep, she arched her back and poked her little butt so high in the air George Mallory would have wanted to climb it.  She pouted her big red lips, tossed her hair to one side, and looked aft -  checking the position of her business end, and to see if her intended had yet noticed.

He had not.

I told the lawyer that he probably should intervene. The blonde had finished the rep; butt up in the air; back arched; and she had mashed the bar so hard against her breasts that the implants were starting to poke out from the arms holes of her top.  It looked like she was going to break something and we weren't wearing any rain gear.

The lawyer walked over to the bodybuilder, ostensibly to pick up a pair of dumbbells that were near him, and casually mentioned to the bodybuilder (in typical male pig fashion) that he ought a get a load of that babe over there.  Well, that was all the prodding young Jethro needed.  In no time flat he was over there helping the blond do that ludicrous excuse for an exercise with even more gusto.  Ahh, a match made in heaven - well, a hotel room, anyway.

The lawyer watched the bodybuilder coach the blond through another, shall we say captivating rep, and then asked me what muscle that worked.

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