The Interview

[thestoryteller]

THE INTERVIEW

Excitement filled our country town
as something new was going down
and all the women, plump or stout,
of which most were without a doubt,
had gathered at the building site
the Westpac Bank left overnight.

Then some smart city slicker who,
while on a tour, had passed on through
and saw potential for a gym
which no doubt had excited him,
for women there had fat to burn
which would ensure a good return.

Balloons and flags waved in the breeze
and tied between two ghost gum trees
a banner there for all to see
with 'Open Now - The First Day's Free'.
This drew recruits from far and wide
all clamouring to get inside.

As Editor of this town's rag
and known to be a sincere SNAG,
I thought Dan, it's your duty to
go down and seek an interview;
to check out this phenomenon,
which really turns the women on.

I found myself somewhat delayed,
but carried on my lone crusade
and ventured through the sliding door,
though in my mind, I was not sure
just whom I should be seeking out
as no one seemed to be about.

I sensed the music did convey
the session was now under way,
so waited one half hour or more
outside, I thought, the entrance door
and all the while I listened to
the grunts and groans that did ensue.

The workout seemed laborious;
a point, I thought I could discuss,
when Mrs Moore, a hefty dame,
emerged on out with her large frame,
all dripping sweat and face quite red,
the poor old dear she looked half dead.

I grabbed my notebook, pencil too,
all set to get my interview,
Then asked, "How did the session go,
it sounded like a gruelling show?
And did you feel it worth the pain,
moreover would you come again?"

"What do you mean?" she asked of me,
"I've only just arrived you see,
so heaven knows why you'd assume
me elsewhere than the dressing room.
My running late was on the cards,
I've just popped on my leotards."


The girls aren't going to like this one, but I'm sure at this very moment there is someone out there writing something in the same vein about us blokes, describing how trim, taut and terrific we don't look.

© Merv Webster

From the book Excuse Me! It's the Gidyea!