I never thought I’d see the day when I would be furious with a midget.

Now, it’s well-documented that my dog is racistheightest against midgets, and I know that when I start shrinking, I can look forward to him attempting to kiss me on the neck with all of his teeth while growling hello, but in general, I find midgets to be delightful*.

There’s a midget child in my apartment complex, and every time he scoots by on his razor, it’s like my birthday and christmas combined. Amy and I were both in agreement–if this child showed up on our doorstep on Halloween dressed as a leprechaun or an oompa loompa, we would give him every last bit of candy in the apartment, and we might even lay in wait for other children to steal their candy to give to him. Sadly, he didn’t show up on trick-or-treat night, and I fear he never shall as I turned into That Neighbor as I’m pretty sure I accidentally flashed a boob at a trick-or-treater when I answered the door in my bathrobe while getting ready to go out.

Amy and I have taken to frequenting the apartment complex’s gym facilities (it’s not much–two treadmills, a bike, and weights, but it does the job) regularly, ever since the nearby 24 hour fitness turned into a SUPER 24 hour fitness and all of a sudden my membership isn’t good enough to get me through the front door anymore. Nicole has convinced me not to quit the football team just yet, and now I need to work out extra-hard on my own just to get ready for team crossfit workouts on the weekends, because at the moment, 40 minutes of squats, 30 minutes of military presses and 50 pullups (!? I CAN’T EVEN DO ONE, upper body strength is not my thing!) plus running is going to kill me.

Last night, we went to the gym, only to find it overrun with children like pee-wee’s goddamn playhouse had exploded in there–one woman had brought six children with her, including the midget, and she was just parked on the exercise bike, not actually pedalling, watching telenovelas on Unavision. Amy gave me a look and said she was going to hit the tanning bed in the hopes that everyone would clear out while she was inside, and wished me luck.

I glared at the children and began jogging. The women on Llores de Sangre de Jesus Cristo** sobbed and shouted “ai papi” for twenty minutes straight. The woman on the bike was enthralled and didn’t notice her monsters fucking up the weights or the midget playing on the other treadmill like it was a jungle gym–there was even one OTHER child who stood outside the window and tapped to get in for a while before bike-lady noticed. And I was struggling. Struggling not to flip my shit, struggling to not start kicking people in the face***, struggling to not crack a tooth while doing so. I’ve got teeth like Jimmy’s fabled corn because I am a jaw-clencher to avoid lashing out. Nearly all of my recent dental misfortunes can be attributed to a family member–for instance, here’s a gem from grandma: “Oh, well, that Melissa’s got such a big mouth, no wonder she’ll never land a husband. Plus she’s carrying around all that weight, it’s such a shame, she used to be so pretty.” CRACK.

So I’m still jogging and surrounded by yelling, destructive children, with the TV at full blast full screaming “AI PAPI” and the woman sitting on the bike next to me isn’t doing squat to resolve either situation, and I’m filling with self-righteous fury about how Amy and I pay rent to use these facilities and these goddamn children are ruining it for us, meanwhile my teeth are creaking like a rotten wooden bridge, and I decided that instead of jaw-clenching, I should try to channel my fury into running, so every time I felt angry, I upped the speed on the treadmill. By the end, I was running so fast and so hard I was afraid I was going to put one of my rhinocerous legs straight through the treadmill, get dragged into the machinery, and be stuck lying on the floor with a shattered leg, mewling in pain, while the midget stood over me and laughed, and I really don’t think it’s fair to expect me to live through someone elses’ acid trip. So I punched ‘pause’ on the machine and prepared to unleash holy flip-out hell on everyone. It was at that exact moment that Llores de Sangre de Jesus Cristo ended, and bike woman herded all of her children the fuck out of the room, thereby denying me the pleasure of ripping her a new one.

Next time I go to the exercise room, I’m bringing some scissors and thread for some impromptu vaginal surgery.

Next time I see the midget, I’m tripping him.

*I know I’m going to hell. You don’t need to tell me.

**I don’t remember the actual name, but one telenovela is like the next.

***I’ve been training in kickboxing specifically because I want to one day be able to kick anyone in the face whom I want to kick, regardless of height. My goal is to one day stroll into a Wal-Mart and just start facekicking everyone.