Tracksuit Bottoms

I can't remember the last time I wore my tracksuit bottoms. (U.S. translation - sweatpants)

I look hideous in them. They puff out in all the wrong places, hang in all the wrong places, and are generally the most avoided item of clothing I own.

I find it completely and utterly impossible to feel comfortable in something that goes to such extremes to make me look overweight middle-aged shape. I've always said the fact that I look awful in sports clothes is more than half the reason I hate doing enough exercise to look good enough to wear, you know, sports clothes.

I'm wearing them to make myself look as unappealing as possible. I'm also wearing a black vest top that's a little too small around the arms, and the most creased shirt I have ever seen. I'm not sure my skin has ever looked worse, and I didn't bother brushing my hair before I tied it up. No make-up, no jewellery.

This is all part of a cunning plan. How cunning? Very cunning. Supposed to just be precautionary measures, but no such luck.

You see, I'm getting kicked out of the house I've been living in for the last year next weekend, so we cancelled the internet contract. I had heart palpitations and panic attacks for a while, bought myself some ice cream to console myself. Then I carried on with the freak out because whilst there are important things in life, such as ice cream, there are also vital things in life, such as the internet. Not that I'm dependent in anyway, you understand.

I knew what I had to do. It was time to brave the 24 hour university computer rooms again.

There are strange, very strange people that dwell within these facilities at the slightly odd hours of the night during which I'm habitually online. Some of them seem to believe that we share a common sense of strange, that the members of this unspoken community should reach out to each other. People try to talk to you. Last time I used these rooms regularly, a Nigerian MBA student talked at me for near on 30-40 minutes as he packed up his bags after logging off. He then asked for my email. I figure that seeing as I throw around my email around all over the place online it doesn't really make much difference if a few people offline get a hold of it as well. Big mistake. He then proceeded to sit down at the computer next to mine and log back onto the network so that he could add me to his list of msn contacts.

Maybe, okay. Just. Not really, but I can accept eccentricity.

Immediately starting with the pervy chatting, not so much. Sitting in silence and having to listen to each other type, really, no. Asking for my phone number and which clubs I like to go out to, clickety-clack, very very wrong. All on msn. I blocked him as soon as he left the room.

He may have been Zambian rather than Nigerian. I can't remember. But I do know that I can't remember the last time I wore my tracksuit bottoms or strived specifically to look unappealing. My thinking is that it never hurts to make that little bit of effort with your appearance.

Good news: no new stalkers acquired this session. Go me.

Bad news: MBA student was here a while ago. He tried saying hi anyway. I think he may realise he's been blocked.

Should I buy a false moustache?

Posted by Missiedith at June 7, 2004 6:29 AM | TrackBack