You should talk

As previously mentioned, I joined a “Yoga for runners” class. I’m beginning to think that it is actually a “Running for Yogists [sic?]” class. All we do is run, twice a week. I have yet to see one mention of stretching or breathing. Yet all the women in it seem to have just fallen off some yoga wagon.
Today was another run through the off-road trails. It’s a bit soggy out, so there was the occasionally pool of mud. All in all, too moist too run without a shirt on.
The start point is at the Lululemon store, and after the run I returned home along Whyte Avenue. Also known as the grand experiment to see how many bars we can cram into a small area. One of these aforementioned bars has open windows right onto the street. I’m walking past the window where there are three men having a beer. One of them says, barely audible, “Nice tits.” There is no one else around, so he must have been talking about me. I didn’t do anything or even acknowledge that I had heard, but now I can’t keep a straight face.
Here I am, in, dare I say, good physical condition, with very little body fat, being mocked by a guy, sitting in a bar working on his Molson muscle.
He probably has better breasts than most women.

Either that or he’s gay and really needs help with the pick-up lines.