Oh, Eric! (Eric is the name of my crazy hot spin class instructor). Don’t ever leave me again!
Last night we had somebody. I don’t know what her name was but she had short blond hair and more extra poundage than I and yet somehow she did very punishing things to us on the bike. She had faux country music playing (Jessica Simpson’s “Boots Are Made For Walking”, anyone?) and firmly believed that the butt and the seat should flirt constantly but never, ever, actually meet.
The only redeeming thing about class was to discover that apparently the blonde Hottie and the Tall Lanky Spin Class Guy, who may or may not be in some form of relationship, are not sitting next to each other anymore AND they each filled their water bottles separately. Also, the Frat Boys were nowhere to be seen and have been replaced by an anemic-looking 20-something who did his durned best, as he put it in discussion with me after class, to not throw up.
Eric! Please come back! I will not make fun of the 10% techno you play and instead cherish the 90% Alt. I will never ever ever again complain about intervals and hills. I will not correct your knowledge of music ever again. I will not skip class ever again. Please, please come back…
Bobbie Conti 