The Difference Between Boys and Girls

Last night, I made my way back to the gym (yeah, I was impressed with myself, too). I walked in to a crowded gym - 2 high school boys and an older guy. I felt claustrophobic right away, but shook it off and tried to act like I came all the time and totally knew what I was doing. I grabbed a remote that went to a TV that was, luckily, not being watched by anyone (at least I'm pretty sure none of the boys were watching the soap opera channel...), jumped on the squeaky elliptical while I searched for my Wheel of Fortune. Found WoF, switched ellipticals when I got too self-conscious of the irritating squeak, and tried not to solve the puzzles out loud, while also not looking like a complete idiot working the elliptical. I had to keep sneaking glances at the mirror on my side to make sure I wasn't accidentally pulling off my quite accurate impression of Phoebe from "Friends" running. I got myself into a good groove, mentally calling the letters the WoF contestants should've been calling, while attempting to maintain my heartrate at a brisk 128 for the optimal fat burning exercise.
One of the high school boys was somewhere behind me doing weights that were no doubt to heavy for him as he waited for me to turn around and check him out (don't you ever feel like things should happen like they do in movies and you get to imagine that you're the cute girl who still looks cute while working out? Yeah, that's the only way I keep getting to the gym, too...). The other boy was working hard on the treadmill just ahead and to the side of me, watching his own TV program 2 TVs down from me. But he didn't last long after I came in - I think picking up his pace so dramatically when I walked in tired him out too much, too quickly. He soon joined his friend in hoping to miraculously obtain amazing biceps and impressive pectorals.
When I refused to recognize their presence lurking behind me, the two high schoolers left, leaving just me and the creepy older guy who was working the weights in front of the mirror. I imagined him kissing each bicep as he curled the weight up, thinking, "You are just a magnificent specimen. I mean, look at you. A sculpture of beauty, that's what you are. Lovingly carved, the light catching your sweat just enough to create a perfect sheen. Wonderful. Wonderful."
Okay, I'm sure he probably wasn't thinking anything like that. If he's anything like me, he was probably really thinking, "WHY am I putting myself through this again? This hurts. I hate weights. Yeah, it's important to be strong, and I definitely DO NOT want flabby arms, but seriously. Isn't there a better way? And by better, I mean easier." Yes, I think in capital letters and strong emphasis often at the gym.
But that is one big difference betwen boys and girls: Whether or not we have the same general thought about our flabby arms, I have a strong inkling that boys don't generally use the term 'flabby.' They might say 'weak,' 'small,' or 'girly,' but not likely 'flabby.' Also, I'd like girly arms - I imagine slender, toned arms. Boys would not like girly arms. All it means to them is that their arms are useless for the 'manly' things they should be participating in daily.
Impressively, I soon lost interest in thinking what these boys might've been thinking. The young boys left, the older guy faded into the darkness in my mind, and I went back to focusing on my breathing and my puzzle solving.
Wheel of Fortune ended; I had solved the bonus round, won $30,000, hugged Pat, celebrated with my family and friends who'd joined me from the audience, and then remembered that I wasn't the girl on the screen. Instead, I was the loser on the elliptical, solving the puzzle for no money, no prize, and very little pride, since I wasn't about to shout the answer to the whole gym and earn the weight-lifting narcissist's attention for my brilliance.
In waiting for my next mental exercise - Jeopardy - I surveyed my surroundings. On the TV next to me, the Hallmark channel was on with some weird, supernatural show that kept holding my casual glances longer and longer. On my elliptical, I saw that I was running slow enough to keep my heart rate at 128-ish, which also meant that I hadn't even reached 1 mile in 10 minutes. The TV to my left had some boring news channel on that practically yawned for me when I tried to figure out what was being talked about. Then came the TV to the far left, the one the treadmill-running adolescent had been watching. I looked at the corner and saw it was on Spike - the man's channel. Perfect for at 16-year-old boy to work out to. I, on the other hand, rolled my eyes when I saw what he had been watching - Ultimate Fighting Conferederation Championships. Ugh....I don't know what it is, but UFC is one of the ugliest, uncompelling things to me, and, I think, to most females. These guys are ugly, bloody things, attacking each other by any means possible - a spin kick to the stomach, and punch to the mouth, a tackle and strangle, and then they get scored by judges to decide the winner? DUMB. I watched for a few seconds to see if I could figure out why this seemed so appealing. I found nothing. In fact, I dislike it even more now.
A while ago, my friend G. was getting asked out quite often by this guy who had found himself in one of her circles of friends. She went out with him once or twice, and she quickly realized she was not going to be interested in him anytime soon. Ever, in fact. So she stopped going out with him. He couldn't understand why she was always busy and didn't seem interested. I thought it was pretty obvious. He's an ultimate fighter. Way into it. He was quite the catch, as far as his guy friends were concerned. But that's the difference between boys and girls. All of his guy friends thought he was so cool, so awesome, so 'manly.'
But G and all of us girls were totally put off by it. I'm sorry, I just don't think I'd like to think of my date potentially coming to my door with a bloody, toothless smile or a broken nose because he had been fighting all day. For work. I want a guy with soft hands and aligned teeth, who wears a power suit to his job. I want a guy who who's quietly muscular, who is well toned, who doesn't break the seams of his shirts and suits. I want a guy who looks normal in regular clothing. In short, I want a guy, not a "man." "Men" are kind of scary and really boring to me. I know, their life seems quite un-boring, but I don't think I'd enjoy hearing about an ultimate fighter's job, or what he loves to do. Hearing about the last guy he just beat up is less than exciting to me.
But guys think "Men" are so cool. Even if they'd never think of being one, it's still rather impressive. Perhaps it's like being a runway model for a girl. I'd never want to be a runway model because their lifestyles are full of smoking and starving themselves, but the idea of being pretty and skinny enough to be one is kind of desirable. Yes, that makes it less weird to me. Comparison analogies - amazing things. Work wonders for my understanding.
At any rate, Jeopardy soon started and I left the Ultimate Fighters to people who wanted to watch them duke it out in a cage for supreme 'man pride.' I made it through my workout on the elliptical did a few reps of an impressive 50 lb. weights to tone up my girly arms, and tried to figure out what in the world the Hallmark channel's movie was about. Ultimate fighting can't seem to keep my attention for longer than 48 seconds, but a muted 1990s C-movie kept me captivated with the apparent "secrets of Grey House." Now that's what I call mindless entertainment!