I have lost my sex appeal. Unless you are Estelle Getty...

Warning: The contents of this post are rated PG-13. And they are disgusting. Read at your own risk. (Like that will chase you away).

Yes. It's over. I have nothing left to live for. I am no longer appealing.

B.B. King ignored me in the gym today. Estelle Getty didn't, but that's another story.

First, some background.

I have a history in the gym of men hitting on me. I have no idea why; I don't roll that way. I don't put off signs. In fact, I put on my headphones, pull a hat over my eyes and ignore everyone as much as possible. I don't bother anyone and hope no one bothers me.

It doesn't help.

Up until about a year ago, I was a workout fiend. I was in the gym six days a week and was in terrific shape. Then I got in radio, got fat and got out of my routine.

But we've made some progress in the weight department and have started going back to the gym every day. Admittedly, I'm not quite as attractive as I was, but hey, that's why I'm back in the gym.

Even so, getting spurned by B.B. hurt.

B.B. is a rather large individual who used to occasionally show up in the gym. Well, the locker room. I'm not sure I've ever actually seen him in the gym itself.

He goes about 5-foot-1, and -- generously -- about 420. He wears skin-tight white leotard-type pants that show well more than anyone would want to see. They are like bike pants, but would have been better served as underwear.

Either way, they were disgusting.

(A special thanks to whoever invented the material. If those things ever split, it would be a natural disaster).

And he looks just like blues legend B.B. King.

A couple years ago, I was getting ready to shower when B.B. approached me and asked me a very strange question.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have a beautiful (Richard)?"

Needless to say, I was taken aback.

I think I mumbled something about, "yes, I get that all the time" in a weak attempt to be funny and quickly retreated.

The former colleagues will probably remember that as the day I smelled like stale sweat, because the shower wasn't happening after that.

I did my best to avoid B.B., and rarely saw him after our brief conversation. Other than the occasional disturbing smile, he did not bother me again. (Well, he did wear those ridiculous shorts).

So it had been a year -- at least -- since I had last seen B.B. waddle into the gym seeking Richards to compliment. He was there yesterday, probably a few pounds heavier, still wearing the same disgusting shorts.

And he ignored me. Nothing. Not even a wry, disgusting smile. And he certainly was no longer impressed with...well, never mind.

So partly relieved and strangely disappointed, I went on my way and began my workout, hat over my eyes, Offspring ("dance, ----er, dance!") blasting in my ears, knowing I was no longer attractive to large, B.B. King/toadlike males.

But apparently, I am still quite fetching to the elderly set. Because as I was there, I saw a... well, mature woman who looked just like the late Estelle Getty trying to take a weight off a machine so she could do the workout with no weights on it. She was struggling, so I stopped what I was doing and took the weight off for her.

She didn't look a day over 90. She moved at a speed of about one mile per century. But it was nice to see her trying to stay healthy in her old age. She thanked me for helping, proceeded to do her one rep, and I went on my way, trying to erase the smell of Ben Gay and stale Depends from my nostrils.

Let no good deed go unpunished.

A couple minutes later, she approached me, interrupting my workout. She asked my name, started making small talk. I was trying to figure out what the heck this was about, and then it hit me:

Estelle Getty is trying to pick me up.

In horror, I politely ended the conversation, saying I only had a few minutes left to finish before I had to go. But she croaked something about "hoping to see me around again soon."

I'm not sure what was worse; being dumped by B.B. or pursued by Estelle.

I am no longer sexy to old, overweight men. But I am George Clooney when it comes to 90-year-olds.

Either way, the thrill is gone.

I think I will try a new gym today.