You can find 'em both at my health club.Today, as I was entering the locker room area, a delightful 30-something -- looking all casual and David Cookesque (is that a word, Lisa?) with his scruffy near-beard and disheveled hair and all-white shorts/t-shirt/earbuds ensemble -- held the door for me and I fell in, if not love, then Mary Kay LeTorneau lust. Then there was the very handsome shiny/sweaty man whose dreadlocks bounced merrily as he ran his laps around the track. Sigh.
But in the women's locker room, there are women who feel that it's more important for their water bottles, iPods and hairbrushes to sit on the bench than my ass. That really makes me nuts. Or the woman today who, rather than asking me to move my gym bag, leapt over it and scared the crap out of me. I mean, I'm untying my shoes and a gazelle passes before me! Worst of all is the skinny old woman who straddles the bench and eats hardboiled eggs -- right there where, if I'm lucky, my ass has been.
Do you think that, if I ask really nice, they'll let me dress with the boys?
