Everyone who knows me, knows I am cheap. I have piles and piles and closets and dressers full of clothes, all bought on sale, usually at ridiculously cut prices. I recently got $310 worth of clothes for $12.76. I really shop.

But my workout clothes are different. I usually get them on sale, too. But recently I purchased, at full price, four new shirts. One of them was from CrossFit Summerville The Anvil. It is neon green. Today, I wore it with a hot pink sports bra underneath it.

I need the compression stuff and the support of a sports bra. I have no idea what Jockey thought I would be doing in a sports bra, but if it includes sports, there is a great likelihood that it will also include sweating. Since I do CrossFit and I work out in an old warehouse – factoring in the Southern summer and no air conditioning – it means I sweat like a pig. That’s if pigs drip sweat and have in running down their faces and backs. That’s how I behave at the box. I work out. I don’t mince around. I do real stuff. I sweat. Buckets.

I came home in my highly air conditioned car and sorta cooled down some. I had breakfast. But since there is no A/C in the house right now, it is hot. I took off my green shirt and found that the hot pink sports bra (already worn and washed a couple times) had bled color onto my full price shirt. I was ticked.

I threw it in a sink full of cold water and took the offending sports bra off and threw on a tank top. I then wrote my first blog post regaling all and sundry about my feats of strength and ineptitude at the box. Then I went to take a shower. The shirt sitting in the sink was completely green again and the water was all pink. So that issue was all right.

I stripped down for the shower thing and looked in the mirror. I had hot pink boobs. But since it is a compression bra, not all my skin was touching the hot pink, there were just these circles of flashy hot pink. And apparently different skin types accept color differently because for some odd reason, I had white nipples. It was just the most amazing sight one can imagine – highlighted by the fact that I’m simply old, a grandmother, and not used to this flashy life-style.

I hoped a shower would work for my skin as well as the cold water worked for the shirt. It did. I’m back to my regularly scheduled, old lady self.