Boxing with Prince Harry

Did I mention that I wear pink boxing gloves and crystal earrings when I work out. Seriously. Laughing stock of the gym.

Alright, I didn't exactly box with Prince Harry. But the owner - against whom I had to spar because no one else showed up to class - is a more muscular, manlier version of him. With an adorable smile. While that may sound like a great situation, the 15 year old girl inside of me - the one that comes out when I try to speak to an attractive male between 25-35 - wanted to run away.

When I got to the gym, he immediately asked where I had been for the past couple of weeks. (The answer? Drunk). I considered replying with: "I am intimidated by your appearance and overall stature, so I didn't want to come in because it was uncomfortable to me". But I didn't want to make him think I was weirder (or at least realize that I'm weirder) than I seem. So I went with the nonchalant, "Oh, you know, I've been around." Win.

For 45 minutes, I was forced to catch his punches, duck his jabs, and throw my own. I was sweating profusely, breathing hard, and making weird faces while exclaiming "Jesus!" in reaction to each one of his punches. And then I told him that I didn't want to work out in front of the mirror "because, ew...". But he would occasionally smile and give a pity laugh whenever I tried to make a joke. And that was enough to make it an excellent workout for me.

I'm going back tonight.



I mean, come on. Look at him. So cute.

Love,

M