In Defense. Of Orange Fleece. And Hair Colorant.

I am in the bathroom at the Parks and Rec Center fussing around before my pilates class. A classmate emerges from the stall. I cringe a little. She's kind of scary. Oh, no worries. I could definitely take her in a dark alley, but she's a little not-my-type. She is probably fifty-plus and eats granola everyday from her organic cereal box and she lets her long hair get wiry with those crazy gray hair on account of the fact that hair colorants cause global warming, probably.

She is dressed in the same thing she wears to each class. Skin-tight eighties work-out leggings and a shirt that should be longer. She's a little bow-legged, well a lot bow-legged, and the combination of the tight leggings on bowed legs and not-long-enough-shirt and the wiry hair don't really do it. For me, anyhow.

Note: Okay, now I'm just being a little snarky on account of the subsequent conversation, of sorts.

She greets me, hello. I reply GOOD MORNING too energetically. I hate when I do that but like I said, she gives me the jitters.

Those are quite the orange pants you're wearing, she says, and I say YES, I HAVE LIME GREEN ONES TOO AND BLUE ONES AND OLD NAVY HAD FLEECE LONG ENOUGH FOR ME AND I BOUGHT EVERY COLOR and yes, I am still being far too energetic but yes, the jitters.

I have orange sweatpants, she says.

Note: See what I'm saying? Sweatpants? Eeew. These pants are fleece.

But I would never wear mine out of the house, she says and walks out.

So now there is only one option. A Plank-Off. To the Death.

Bring it on!

Heck, yes!