I couldn't possibly exaggerate this.

I had an out-of-body experience today involving a red-polka-dot thong and mylar balloons and you're now all invited to gawk.

I have debated with myself all day whether I should blog about this or not, because it falls under the category "I feel bad for saying this but I can't keep it in anymore," and I just blogged in that category two days ago....

but.

I can't help it. This must be told.

A tiny bit of background: I live in Orange County, CA, home of the The Real Housewives of Orange County, MTV's Laguna Beach and Fox's The OC. And assuming you live in a beach town (which I do), there's a fair amount of truth in what you see on TV.

If you were to show up to my son's elementary school on any given morning before the bell, you would infer that my city is inhabited by nothing but tanned, toned, blondes and tiny, perfectly coiffed Asians. It would be a reasonable assumption but if you came back day after day, you would find a substrata of slightly overweight brunettes (I'm the one with ten pounds still to lose). We've usually run out of time to brush our hair in between dropping our kids off at school and rushing to our Weight Watchers meeting. Or the gym, because hope springs eternal and all.

So that's where I was this morning, ready to take the TKB class. That's turbo kickboxing to the 24 Fitness uninitiated. Now, I have gone to the Monday class but overindulgence at a soup buffet last night drove me to a Wednesday morning round of shadowboxing that looks suspicously more like an overly aggressive cheer routine. I've taken this class for years at a different gym but that was Inland, which is a totally different animal than a Beach gym.

I walked into the class expecting to find the same overcaffeinated instructor, Molly, from the Monday class. Now I have made my peace that these classes are full of surgically enhanced perky blondes, token Asians, and a handful of moms who are trying really hard (I'm in that handful). But I was not prepared to find most of the class dressed in all white workout gear, ratty "bridal veils" clipped to their heads, white streamers draped the length of the exercise mirror and silver mylar balloons placed (all askew, I might add) throughout the room. Turns out we were having a mini-bachelorette part for one of the students getting married that weekend.

What the....?

I wish the weirdness ended there. But no. Tammy's friends brought a pair of red polka dotted thong underwear for her to wear over her shorts while doing roundhouse kicks. Then, once the class actually got under way (with a sea of bridal veils bobbing and weaving), the instructor and other white clad party godesses would periodically surround The Bride for bouts of suggestive dancing which apparently translates to, "We're so happy for you!" The instructor modified some of the punch and kick combos to include chest pumps and booty-shaking like it was The Club on a Saturday night. And due to the fact that these women have apparently exercised together forever, she didn't feel the need to call out the combos to any newcomers which meant that I spent an hour feeling like an idiot, eight beats behind, trying to figure out whether I was supposed to be on a jab, kick, uppercut or hook. Or maybe hooker. I don't know. It was touch- and-go at some points.

Now I can only assume this is not the usual for this class. And some of you may be asking, "Why not just leave?"

Did I mention eating way too much cream based soup and homemade toffee at Enrichment last night? And of course, there's the whole rubbernecking effect. It was like a huge pile-up on the 405 at rush hour only there's no carnage to go with the damage so you don't feel bad for looking and in fact, couldn't look away if you wanted to.

Ultimately, I did leave, though. When the Chief Booty Slap Dancer took over the mic for instructor duties, I'd had enough. I grabbed my baby from the kid care and made my escape. This afternoon I'm left pondering whether the moral is "lay off the chowder so you never have to go to that class again" or "the elliptical machine might be boring but it's devoid of Pick-n-Save bridal veils and thong bedecked lunatics."

Either way, I'm running the next time I see red polka dot panties at the gym.

Seven comments to move on, y'all....