As I've mentioned before, I'm a little creeped out by people who are way too comfortable with public nudity. One particular woman at my gym can often be seen lounging around in the locker room naked for ridiculously long periods of time. She's just not one of those people who gets out of the shower and changes into her clothes with any kind of sense of urgency. Rather, she ambles about completely nude, fixing her hair, applying her makeup, chatting up passersby, in no hurry to cover her parts.
Now, I have no problem with how Barebutt looks nude, although there are plenty of people I'd go to absolutely any length to avoid seeing in the buff. But she's a workout fiend--she's at that gym every single day, as far as I can tell--and she's in great shape, which is maybe why she's so happy being naked. Maybe she figures the locker room is her one place to showcase the fruits of her labor. I've often lamented that it seems like the people who are the most comfortable being naked in the locker room for the longest periods of time are the people you'd least want to see in the nude, so it's nice to know that, mixed in with all the visual punishment you're guaranteed to get in the locker room, there are a few sights that don't make you want to ram a ball point pen in your eye to blind yourself.
However, there are limits to what I can accept. Here's what went down recently in my locker room, in two separate incidents of Unforgivable Nudity.
On a day like any other, Barebutt was trotting around the locker room executing her usual list of 150 Things To Do While Naked In Public. The hair drying and the mascara application were expected, as were the 10 conversations she managed to strike up with everyone who got within earshot of her. Then came the lotion rub which covered every square inch of skin, twice. Then came lunchtime, apparently. She pulled an apple and a granola bar out of her bag and sat down on the bench, her well-socialized private parts presumably immune to whatever germs typically lurk on the surfaces of locker room benches, and proceeded to dine. Picture me, a foot and a half away, respectably clothed, staring slack-jawed at her like a mental patient, too stunned to unclench my fist from around my hairbrush.
Perhaps it's the fault of the gym itself. Maybe it's their duty to provide a lavish dining area so members can relax and have a proper post-workout meal, rather than having to scarf down granola bars while slouching naked on germy benches, surrounded by sweaty women in varying stages of hairy undress. I don't know. All I know is my brain can process "vagina" or "lunch," but not both at once. When those two concepts bump into each other in my brain, the whole system shuts down like VCR after a 2-year old shoves a peanut butter sandwich into the slot.
But last week Barebutt managed to use her excessive comfort level to kick my discomfort level's ass. She came racing into the locker room, clearly late for a workout class or some other engagement. She had her gym bag over her shoulder and a huge box of energy bars under her arm. Not one of those 5-bar packs, but more like a 15 or 20-bar pack. She charged into a bathroom stall, chirping away to no one in particular about how badly she needed to pee. I thought to myself as she passed, "Why haul all that stuff into the stall with you? There's no place to set it down." I usually put my towel and water bottle on the shelf by the sinks when I go into the stalls, because the idea of flushing the toilet anywhere within 50 feet of a bottle I'm apt to drink out of makes me want to cut out my tongue. After all, while my gym is very clean and nice, this is the same gym bathroom in which I once saw a cockroach the approximate size of my head cheerfully waving his antenae at me from the back of the toilet seat I had just risen from. So scarred was I by this incident that I ceased peeing on toilet seats for a month, instead catheterizing myself with a Ziploc freezer bag and some rubber tubing. (Okay, I made that last part up, but the rest of it, including the cockroach, is true.)
I was actually in the process of setting my water bottle and towel down by the sinks at the exact moment she buzzed past, since I was on my way to a bathroom stall as well. I thought she must just be so frazzled from running late that she'd forgotten she was carrying all that stuff with her, and therefore forgot to set it down by the sinks. But as I entered the stall next to her, the unthinkable happened: She sat down on the toilet, throwing the box of energy bars on the bathroom floor. Just as I busy reeling from the ick factor involved in putting anything on a public bathroom floor that you intend to pick back up--much less food--she tore into the box, ripping it open as she peed. She then proceeded to hastily unwrap a bar and begin eating it while peeing! Once her bladder was empty and the toilet was flushed, she exited the stall, still munching on what was left of the energy bar.
Am I a prude? Am I old fashioned? Am I too germphobic? Am I uptight? I would eat my own kneecap before I would consider bringing food into a public bathroom stall, much less noisily chowing down on it while urinating. And what ever happened to being afraid of the scorn of your peers? What kind of person wouldn't at least be embarrassed to be caught eating on a public toilet? What kind of world am I living in?? I mean, I know there are plenty of people out there who are exceedingly comfortable with their bodily functions, and occasionally I run across some whacko who's downright proud of them. But Barebutt is in a category by herself. I hope.
I go to the gym to stay thin, and I recommend it highly because it works. It works in two separate and distinct ways, one of which might surprise people: I burn a few calories during my workout, sure, but more importantly, I completely lose whatever appetite I've worked up in the locker room afterward. Try it yourself: Next time you're about to take a bite of a candy bar or a french fry, picture Barebutt eating food off the bathroom floor while urinating.
And no, she didn't wash her hands after she left the bathroom stall, either. And at that point, I have to admit, it did seem rather arbitrary.