Don’t Shit Where You Eat – Part 1

My sister once gave me a great piece of advice. I knew it was wise when she shared it, but I didn’t follow it. And so, unfortunately, this story has two parts as not only did I neglect to follow her advice once, but I made the same relationship mistake twice. That’s right; I took a shit in my own kitchen.

Sounds gross right? Obviously, it’s not literal, but thinking about how vulgar it is when you say it reflects how bad it is to make this mistake. Just so we’re all on the same page – this piece of advice refers to creating sexual relationships out of platonic ones – specifically among coworkers and professionals. Think about someone in your life who you see on regular basis with whom you have a strictly professional relationship – it could be a coworker, your massage therapist or even your local postal worker. Now imagine having sex with them. Bad sex. Or even good sex that you only have once. Could you still maintain the same relationship you had prior to the sex? If the answer is no, then sleeping with them would be equivalent to shitting where you eat. It ruins dinner.

The first time I made this mistake was a door-opener for round two, which was even more odious than my first. But before we get to number two, let’s start with number one.

At first, my relationship with my personal trainer was absolutely ideal. He kicked my ass and I hated his guts. As I returned for my torture session each week, we became friendly, and his guts became a little more appealing. As we slowly became friends, I began to enjoy coming to sessions even though he worked me out to exhaustion. This was ok and I definitely condone being friendly with someone you spend this much time with, however it’s when you take a professional relationship out of the platonic realm that you risk ruining what you’ve spent time building.

This trainer was a great find; he helped me get into the best shape of my life and taught me how to intensify and get the most out of my workouts. And then I ruined it all.

In my defense, you try working out with a guy who has a perfect physique, pearly white teeth, bright blue eyes and a sexy French accent without jumping his bones. Losing fifteen pounds is easier.

In between gasping for air, I did my best to flirt during our sessions. I’d ask about his weekend plans, talk about going out and make suggestive jokes when he would do things like tie my feet together and weigh them down to deepen my crunches.

Eventually, he asked to spend time with me outside of the gym. Shortly after, he was calling me every week not just to schedule workouts, but to make weekend plans together. I loved going out with him and showing him off.

At first, things continued rather normally. We were generally able to separate our physical relationship from our professional relationship. I’d work out with him in the gym one day and the next, we were at his apartment.

Things were great and I was delighted. No doubt it was a little confusing, but I felt like I was getting the best of both worlds. No complaints. That is, until things got weird.

It started with a post on my Facebook funwall.

He drew a picture of a vagina on my wall.

The thing is, I thought we had graduated from middle school. Was he drunk? Was this a language barrier?

I sent him a message: “Did you really just draw a vagina on my wall?”

I deleted the vagina before anyone else saw the shenanigan.

Then he drew a penis on my wall and sent this message, “Mister Penis wants to be with Miss Vagina.”

Language gap or straight up immaturity – it didn’t matter, this was not ok.

Had I never started a sexual relationship with my trainer, I never would’ve been exposed to this side of him and we would’ve been able to continue our trainer/trainee relationship.

I shat where I ate and now I was forced to break out a pooper scooper. How was I going to have a professional training relationship with someone who referred to body parts with a prefix of Mister and Miss?

It had to be over. All of it. I ceased communications, ignoring all of his phone calls and text messages until they eventually subsided.

Things weren’t going to be the same and now I needed a new trainer. It made for a great story and it was a great conquest, though the ending leaves a bit to be desired. I still don’t really know what to make of it. What I do know is that if I didn’t take a shit on my own kitchen table, I’d still have a great trainer.

Stay tuned for part number two where I make the same mistake again and even worse, at the office.

You’ve got to take some risks to reap the benefits of a relationship, though as I am slowly learning, some risks are better left untaken.


*By an ashamed and therefore anonymous PV staffer