Drowning in a sea of testosterone

Kevin has a weight bench in our bonus room upstairs. It is not a dinky little weight bench. It is this massive thing that is painted the color of a school bus. Apparently, he can do every kind of lifting known to man and not have to go to a gym. He pulled the old "bait and switch" on me with this equipment. When we were having our house built, he suggested we should reinforce the floor joists upstairs in case we ever wanted to put a pool table up there. I thought that was a good idea. I like playing pool. In a separate conversation entirely, we discussed the benefits of getting this weight equipment that he could keep in the garage. I thought the garage was a fabulous idea and gave him two thumbs up. Well, that equipment never saw the garage. It went straight upstairs to the bonus room because --- you guessed it --- the floor is already reinforced anyway. So if you ever come to visit us, you can hop right our of our guest bed and get a work out in. This is what it looks like:
The other day Kevin, Fletcher and I were upstairs and Kevin says, "Let's see if mommy can do a pull up."

Mommy has the upper body strength of a gnat.

Fletcher joins in the excitement and says, "Yeah, mom, go ahead."

Kevin gets The Look from me, but is still laughing anyway.

I don't want my son to think I am a wimp so I get into position. But by this time I am laughing so hard I can't do anything.

Fletcher (ever the encourager) says, "Go ahead, mom. Pull yourself up. Pull. With your arms. On that bar. Try harder. Just pull. Up. You have to go up. It's a pull up."

In case you are wondering, no, I did not complete the pull up. I would not be a candidate for the Presidential Fitness Award.