10/10/2025
The older woman has decided to take up Pilates. She feels it would be good to put her socks on without creaking, bend down without needing help to get back up again, squat without farting and look behind her without spraining every muscle in her neck and shoulder.
She’s bought the mat and the cute, but completely ineffectual, head cushion - along with a brand new water bottle. She just knew that the kind of people doing Pilates would absolutely be the same people that carry around those mahoosive bottles with the encouraging messages down the side: dried up husk, slightly damp, it’s not wine you know, is your Tena big enough and congrats you’ve reached camel status…you’ve certainly got the toe.
Now…if they did bottles like this for gin, she’d absolutely get on board with the motivational nonsense.
She’s been going for a few weeks and has established ‘her spot’. Everyone in the class has ‘their spot’, and if someone new arrives it’s a race to get shoes off and mats flipped out before the newcomer can steal any of these sacred spots. There has been the odd occasion when she’s had to practically rugby tackle a newcomer as they attempted to roll out their mat in the back left, 3 rows down, spot. Her spot.
She likes being at the back, because once she’s laid on the mat she can grab a quick snooze while the instructor is at the other end of the room. She’s perfected the art of smiling while snoozing, so the instructor can’t be sure if she just has her eyes shut or if she is actually asleep - and doesn’t like to disturb her to ask.
The Pilates clientele are a mottly crew:
Mavis, who enters the hall bewildered in her 80s leg warmers and headband - then leaves in the same state. The older woman thinks Mavis has taken a wrong turn and actually meant to go to Zumba, but is too polite to say anything and is now stuck with stretching, deep breathing and balancing on one leg for the next 5 weeks.
Brenda, who runs in late every time. She’s clearly rushed in from work and hurriedly changed - because she’s tottering around in one stiletto and one trainer, while shoving an oat bar into her gob as she’s not had time to eat a meal.
Francesca, front and central, looks like she should have her own Pilates dvd. She’s bedecked in matching Lycra - from her pert little b***s down to her teeny tiny socked feet, via her unbelievably and annoyingly tight arse. The older woman hates her.
Last week the older woman walked in to find a new member, slap bang in the centre of the room - and apparently tied up in knots. She casually walked passed, while furtively glancing at him, and literally couldn’t work out which bit of leg went where. Show off.
She stopped short of gawping - while fighting the urge to go over and unravel him - then simply carried on over to her spot, flung out her mat with a flourish, laid on her back, pulled up her legs and…farted.
Supremacy had been re-established my friends…supremacy had been
re-established.
Never try to out ravel the older woman 😂
©️Midlife Dramas in Pyjamas
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