I Don't Want to See You Naked

That applies to all of you. I can be pretty sure that the feeling is mutual, and trust me, I'm more then fine with that. But apparently I need to make it clear to many others that I do not want to see them nude. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely have an appreciation for the human form. By which I mean, the body in general. The female body being particularly beautiful. For example in sculpture, painting, work of art around the world, the nude body is breathtaking. The problem I have is with you. Naked. In my locker room.

O.K. I know. It's the gym. You should be able to be naked in the gym. That's where you shower. That's where you change. It all kind of goes together. It’s included with the package. But I'm not talking about necessary nudity. You know, to get the job done. I'm talking about gratuitous nudity. In your face, ugly, naked, sweaty, dimpled, sagging nakedness. The nakedness that you can feel staring you down from across the room. The nakedness that wants to have a chat with you. ICK.

And there you are. Parading it all around like it’s something to behold. And most of the violators at my gym are over 55. Aren’t you supposed to have more modesty at that age? More shame? More sense? More to hide? Maybe it’s some sort of bitter display for the rest of us of the horrors yet to come. I’ve heard that one of the benefits of growing older is the concept of coming into your own. Being able to voice your opinions, speak your mind and not care what others think about you. You’re more confident then ever. Self assure. Empowered. Yes. That’s very nice. I’m ever so happy for you and your new found self-actualized aged authentic self. Bravo. Now you might want to call a dermatologist because that mole underneath the overhang of your left breast doesn’t look normal. That’s right. Underneath. You probably hardly get a chance to look under there. Lucky you.

Just so I don’t have to wear eye patches in the locker room from now on, let’s hammer out some guidelines, shall we? If you are naked in my gym locker room, I would appreciate it if you would follow one simple rule: Do not try to start a conversation with me if you do not have clothes on. Or at least a towel. Like the one you are holding in your hand Hello?! Sometimes I think that you women at my gym do it to me on purposed. You’ve singled me out, as if we’re in high school. And you are seriously are the seniors (I am so laughing about that. Totally not intended. Seniors, right? Good times). I think you do it because I am the biggest prude there. I have one of those towels that have the snaps up one side and I am never without it, and that makes you crazy. I think there is some kind of bet going on right now to find out if I’m just hyper modest, or if I have some kind of horrific deformity on my torso. Good luck with that one freaks! You’re never getting a free show off this one! And take some tips, cover it up if you want to ask me about where I got those shoes. If you don’t follow this rule I will be forced to shun you as if you were a fat chick trying to join my cheer leading team. And by the way, you are fat. Good thing you're coming to the gym. Snap!

Now I must take time to address to particular individuals who never seem fail to violate my delicate sensibilities. The first lady I call you Maroon Lady. The reason for this nickname is that every day you come to the gym in the same maroon shirt, dress, stockings, shoes and jacket (and I assume, less then dainty, unmentionables). Your workout clothes are always the same and, no surprise, maroon. As if this in itself is just not odd enough (but good for you, right? You’ve found a thing that you think works for you. You’re not caving to the modern standers of beauty, etc. You go girl…and such) today, upon leaving the bathroom stall, I turn to use the sinks (because I'm a good girl and I wash my hands after) and what do my eyes behold? There you are, standing at one of the only two sinks, wearing nothing but maroon tights, giving yourself some kind of sponge bath. At the sink. Which is one foot from the showers. Just leaning over the sink, breasts swaying back and forth like two grocery sacks, one containing a single grapefruit, and the other a single orange. Double Ick. Have some class, will you? But I will say this for you: No naked talk with you. You pretty much keep to yourself. Which is what I'll probably tell the police when they come to interview everyone at the gym. Until then, I just have to do a lot of creative visual dodging.

To the other woman, I have not given you a nickname. I just find you annoying. What are you? All of 5’ nothing, you little 'spit-fire'. Maybe that’s what I’ll call you. You’re probably in your early 60's and you dress like a 40 year old woman would dress if she were trying to look 25. Even though the results aren’t attractive, I have admire the work that goes into that look. Every time I see you, you wear either the same knee length stretch pants, or if we’re all super special lucky, those gray Daisy Duke length sweat shorts, coupled with a black sports bra for your workouts. And no shirt. Just the bra. And let’s not forget the mesh, fingerless weight lifting gloves that completes, yet another, out of the ballpark look. First, the little stretching routine that you do, in the locker room prior to going into the actually gym? To me, your body reacts to this in a way that suggests it's not quite sure what you’re asking of it, but it really wants to play along. The two of you should have a talk. All of this is quirky and almost gosh darn cute, until it's shower time! Your 30 minute bathing routine begins with 10 minutes of bare breasts, 5 minutes of complete nakedness, 5 minute shower and in varying degrees of nakedness for the remaining time. You have become the biggest violator of my rule. In part because you are one of those ‘chatty naked’ weirdo’s. Don’t like the chatty naked. The main reason you are the big winner: lotion application.

There are two stools in the ladies locker room. First, I must at least applaud you for having the decency to not sit your raw, bare uglies directly on the stool. However, I would find it most acceptable for you to place your foot upon the stool while applying lotion to your legs. I do not find the counter to be in any way acceptable for this job. You, being so short, and the counter, ever so high. How is it that I hardly even know you, yet due to a horrifyingly timed glance on my part, I can now hazard a pretty good guess that your children came out the hard way? Beyond Ick.

So, to both of you, especially ‘Spit-fire”, I say this: If you see me in the locker room, act as if I have a contagious disease that can be contracted from as close as 5 ft away, but especially from eye contact. I assure you, this is how I will treat you.