Bootylicious.

I walked into the women’s locker room at the gym a few Sundays ago and saw this.

Now, a little setting of the scene: I run. I’ve become dedicated to running, and I think it’s glorious to run for an hour while watching Patti Stanger and her gang of goths cut down another douchebag millionaire while helping the deserving find love. However, I didn’t make it an entire hour that Sunday - I’d fallen victim to the sea shanty of Captain Morgan the night before, and only managed to run for half an hour, maybe.  I had gone to the warehouse on Saturday night with my boyfriend, and my ears were still ringing.  I had also gone to bed at three, and woken up at seven, unable  to fall back into sleep. The boyfriend managed to sleep until nearly noon, the lucky bastard, but he was sleeping off the mental and physical pain of being slowly knocked down on the floor by the writhing singer of one of the local bands we had seen, who had crawled between his legs and grabbed his ankles. (The next weekend, he would see the same guy at a bar and declare, “That’s the guy I played Night Crawlers with!”)  He had also been hit in the head by the tambourine of fury, wielded by the blonde-wig-sporting, dress-wearing, high-heel-kicking male singer of another band.

So I had already been having a fairly difficult day, and more fuckery waited for me behind the innocent-looking door of the women’s locker room.  I understand that locker rooms are there for a reason - to change clothes, shower, gossip loudly - and there might be some nakedness involved. I understand that. However, there was no clause in my gym membership that stated “WE HEREBY ARE NOT HELD RESPONSIBLE SHOULD YOU WALK INTO THE LOCKER ROOM AND IMMEDIATELY HAVE A BUTT IN YOUR FACE.” Which is exactly what happened.

It wasn’t that this woman was bare-assed - I wasn’t offended by that.  It was that she had the audacity to stand right there in front of the door, leaning over the sink, when she had no under-roos on.  And the real slap in the face was that SHE WAS WEARING A TEE SHIRT. I'm not sure why she decided to put on a tee shirt and WHY IT WAS SO HARD TO PUT SOME DAMN UNDERWEAR ON.

Reflection: perhaps my hangover was Jesus’s way of telling me DO NOT GO TO THE GYM TODAY, AS YE WILL EYE BUTTOCKS OF AN INGLORIOUS NATURE RIGHT UP IN YOUR FACE.

I don’t think I even paused - I just walked on at a faster clip, tried to erase that ass from my mind, get my shit together, and GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE.
Later, I told this tale to my family during our Sunday night dinner, as, clearly, it’s an appropriate topic for family-dinner-table-talk. My mother theorized that the woman was washing her underwear in the sink.  That would be a valid reason to not be wearing underwear, but that brings up an entirely new set of questions: Why was she washing it?  Did she period herself? Was it her only pair?  Did she shart?

My mother then told us the tale of her friend, who’s niece-in-law got arrested for being incredibly shitfaced and decided to call my mother's friend late at night to come and get her from the jail.  This woman was nice enough to actually do that - a mistake, we decided - but when she went down there, she waited. And waited.  Finally, the girl came out, still drunk, and crying, to be released into this woman’s custody.  Apparently, she was crying not because of the arrest, but because it had taken her so long to get dressed - she had drunkenly put her pants on inside out.

Which is probably worse than just being bare-assed at the gym.