The real hot-blooded man that I want is on the left...
Strange things happen on the other side. The dark side.
I was having a gruelling session yesterday with my trainer albeit a motivating one. Being female, it's something to whack 5,200 punches in hard core fight club impact (okay, perhaps I was thinking too much of a Norton-wannabe, but it's still no baby punches that I was trying to block away from my trainer), planks, push-ups and weight circuits in quiet discipline. No argument. Just do it mentality. Make no mistake, I love being a glutton for this sort of punishment. Sleep like a log and does wonders in keeping my restless mind slightly focus... that's until I need to head back to working out again within 48 hours!
But outside of my 2-hour workout, weird stories start to leak out. From the men's room.
And this is where I am a bit lost. Hence, my hubby takes on the role of explaining it in finer details to me. Although I may have to agree with him that things in the female's locker room make up for the "claws out there" in its subtlety, I am still dumbfounded with the audacity of blatant display in the male's locker room that will put your kindergarten's nun to a rosy red blush.
Case in point. You (the man - and assume, a decent, non-egocentric one at that) came out of the shower, ready to go into the steam room. What laid between you and the path to hot ethereal water therapy was two chunks of gluteus attached like those alien spawns on a tree trunk of a man. Naked, barring one tiny napkin of a towel that he casually hung around his Tasmanian region, he just stood there.
You saw an opening when another fellow homo sapien (bless this brave boy) casually interjected the meditating naked display of muscles by opening the steam room's door, you jumped at following the line inside - making a concrete effort to avoid touching an iota of any birthday suit. So you thought it was over quite quickly. Sitting inside the steam room, you were disappearing in between the gentle caress of the fresh steam snaking in (no pun) and you were almost closing your eyes... but wait a minute. What in the blessed Earth was staring at you and your compatriot? The holy trinity resulting from your very naked friend standing on the outside, only this time he was pressing his chest and groin areas onto the glass panel of the door. Now we have all been through this game of planting our faces on glass windows to see how ridiculous we looked. Need I remind you of that visual? Now think about this inconsiderate bull that was toasting himself on the steam room's door. What was he thinking... that he was getting a bit nippy and thought of warming his bits off? Disgusting!
Case in point again. You were totally wiped out in a workout. Your muscles were begging for a good relaxation. You decided to sit in the steam room (sorry, you have been warned). You (the unsuspecting man) walked in, sat down. Another man came in. Nothing to worry, right? In a most gallant (not!) fashion he whipped off his waist towel like Leonidas would do in front of his queen in their chambers, except that you are no queen to no man (for Pete's sake, you're a man!). Of all the many square inches of sitting space, he had to sit directly opposite you on a perfect line. So this baboon was leaning back like a complete alpha, enjoying obviously your discomfort. Where were you going to turn your sight? Praying that the steam machine would blast off more stuff to blanket off the ugly sight in front of you, you summoned religiously a vigour that you thought you had lost (chant goes something like "please, please..."). Just when you thought things were going to not get any worse, Murphy's Law descended upon us mere mortals. Your new nemesis suddenly had itchy hand. Note: if you are offended easily by real field reporting, please stop reading now - the baboon decided to let his hand do the nice-to-meet-you-hand-shake with his willy. What? The room was too hot that he got turned on too? Filthy! Blasphemous! Condemned! Rot!
Case in point final. Some men just had to walk around the locker room naked. Fine, you just go about with half-closed eyes as quickly as you could. These moon flashers were so proud and confident of their booties that they deliberately took each careful step on the tiled floor hard and sent the shock waves up in full ripple on their maximus gluteus. I rest my case.
So, it may seem that the females are a boring lot, but we sure look better coming out of the showers because we keep our towels on! Less is more, I think?
But it sure isn't so much fun. Especially when you are reporting on the side! Not sure if modernisation has turned a lot of men confused. But I choose a real lad anytime. And honey, thank you for being just that.
