Dear Jessica Stam,
You’re really lovely (as a person, not just your eyes), but.
Please don’t get on the elliptical machine in front of me anymore.
The Balenciaga motorcycle jacket you toss on the floor, like my towel, is a tragedy.
The thermos in your cup holder, with a straw sticking out, is a tabloid mystery.
The dirty ponytail that swings back and forth when you climb on the pedals, the way it did down the Marc runway, is torture.
And meanwhile, my workout melts to shit.
Again, you are amazing, but would it be so bad if you did yogilates or spinning? I promise I’ll never set foot on a mat – especially that Stella McCartney mat sticking out of your Prada backpack.
PS: To the cute guy on the other machine, who was checking me out before Stam got there, and kept pretending to check me out after – that was really sweet of you. Maybe next time, we can stretch together.
[CHRISTY TURLINGTON - AM I THE IMAGINARY SOCIALITE?]