Workin' on my Fitness

I usually work out at our local park district, and it has served me well for the past few years. It is all old people trying to figure out the machines, and stay at home moms trying to jog off the baby weight. While I am up in the gym working on my fitness (ok, last Fergie reference) the girls hang in the babysitting room downstairs. This is the place that I think Nora picked up her RSV, and I think that Abby might be scarred somewhere in her psyche by the way Ms. Betty the babysitter deals with children (she yells. a lot. about nothing). When my membership expired last month I was not too bummed because I was so unhappy with the whole babysitting thing. So I was shopping around for a new gym and I was leaning toward Bally's because if you stand at the end of my street you can almost see it and I could get there without going through a stoplight.
Enter my mother.
The details of how it all came about are still hazy, but I am now a member of Women's Workout World for the next 2 years as part of my mom's membership. I wasn't thrilled about this, but whatever, it was taken care of and I didn't have to think about it. So I go off to WWW today for my orientation. They too have a babysitting room so I packed the girls up and we went back to 1983.
My first impression was...yikes.
I put the girls in this room with some random toys and a bunch of children, one of who told me that it was her turn to "take off the baby's hat". Um, not quite honey. They were fine and I was hoping for a little more acknowledgement of my departure. I mean, really I was abandoning them in a new place that even gave me the heebs, but it was clean and I didn't see any RSV anywhere so I left.
The woman who "oriented" had on the most awesome teal swishy suit I have ever seen. She would have totally fit in at my father in law's house (have I told you about that place? Another time...) She told me all about her Armenian heritage after seeing that my last name was Armenian. She also made what could have been a racial slur about people of Turkish descent, which kind of made me chuckle, but I think it might have been really offensive. So she took me around to all the equipment, and after the 3rd one she told me that I knew what I was doing and went to call her daughter (she is 21 and just broke up with someone last night. I hadn't asked).
So I go from ghetto machine to ghetto machine and longed for the days of the stroke victims trying to figure out how to work the weight machines.
My kids were fine, they liked the playroom, it has everything one would need, but can I really do this for 2 years? And when my mom comes home am I going to have to go work out with her?
Tell me to shut up.