My sexy AF husband cooked dinner for us last night. So I got to take a day off from cooking. It was glorious. Better yet, he made the most deeelish pot of chili. See?

Since that leaves me with no new kitchen adventures to report on, I’m going to take this opportunity to address an issue that’s been on my mind for a while now. I hate to bring the mood down, but it’s time for some serious talk.

Serious trash talk.

OK, OK, maybe that’s too harsh. Just consider the following a Public Service Announcement. If you belong to a gym, or take fitness classes, or belong to a running group of some kind, you’re gonna feel me on this one.

There are a few people at the gym who you just don’t want to be. They are the ones who get side-eyed by everyone else who is giving 110 percent and putting every last drop of energy into it. Even trainers and coaches hate them. If you think you’re one of them, just stop and don’t.

First, and realllly the most annoying, is the Wooo Girl. There you are, not five minutes into your workout, sweating your ass off and hating life. And there she is, having the time of her goddam life. You’re grimacing. She’s smiling like she goin’ to Disneyland. You’re grunting. And every 30 seconds, she yells “WOOOOOOOO!”

If only it were legal to punch people straight in the face.

This isn’t a high school football game, and you’re not the quarterback’s cheerleader girlfriend, bitch. Quit being so peppy. Do you hear anyone around you cheering along? NO, ya don’t. Now STFU and work harder, because clearly you’re not pushing yourself hard enough. If you were, you’d be as miserable and quiet as the rest of us.

The male counterpart of the Wooo Girl is The Grunter. He’s sweating his balls off a foot away from you, and all you hear is a throaty grunt during every rep. Bicep curls: “Uhhh, uhhh, uhhh, uhhh.”

And he’s only using the 20 lb. weights.

Hey, buddy: If we wanted to know what you sound like when you’re having sex, we’d sleep with you. You’re at the gym. In public. There could be children around, for Christ’s sake. Knock it off.

Finally, we’ve got Up in Da Club Girl. You know the one. She’s easy to spot. It’s 5:30 am and she’s wearing a crop top and lip gloss. You deserve a medal for brushing your teeth before you left the house, and her hair looks like a Pinterest ponytail win.

Look, if you’re hitting up 24-Hour Fitness after work, then great. Do your thing. Wear them booty shorts. Hint: Bros love it when you ask them to help you with your form. Go get ’em.  But if you’re dragging your ass out of bed at the crack of dawn to work out next to women wearing sweatpants and T-shirts and active wear made from moisture-wicking material that serves a purpose, please pleaseplease PLEASE wear a shirt long enough to hide your underboob. I don’t care how good you look, and guess what: NOBODY ELSE DOES EITHER. We are all here to accomplish one task: To look as good as you do, you little hussy. And newsflash: Even if I did look as good as you, I wouldn’t wear that kind of thing to a 5:30 am bootcamp that has literally three dudes in it and they’re all married. Seeing you dressed like that is not motivating; it’s not giving us aspirations and hopes and dreams. It’s making 50 women old enough to be your mother (or much older sister) hate your guts.

Oh, man.

I can’t tell you guys how GREAT it feels to finally get that off my chest. PHEW! It’s like this massive weight has been lifted.

Thanks for listening, guys. I promise I’ll go back to being funny tomorrow.

Note: This is a re-post from the Tumblr version of this blog. It originally ran on April 14, 2016.