Y Are You Naked?

Dear Lady at the Y:
 
On Friday of last week, I found myself needing to use the restroom facilities at the Charleston YMCA.
 
I was minding my own business. With Toby Mac blaring through my iPod earphones, I entered the bathroom. As I rounded the corner, I saw you standing in front of the mirror blow-drying your hair.
 
Which wouldn’t have been a big deal.
 
Except that you were naked.
 
Totally.
 
Birthday suit.
 
Tell me.
 
Who besides you?
 
Does that?
 
It was mighty uncomfortable for me as was probably obvious from the angle of my jaw as it dropped to the floor.
 
I rushed into the bathroom stall, just as my eyes popped out of my head. The expression on my face was no doubt, priceless. As I walked out of the stall, another patron walked into the bathroom. The expression on her face was enough to tell you what she thought of your exhibition.
 
For the love of all that is holy, puh-lease. Put your friggin clothes on next time.
 
No one wants to see all that. Well, at least we women don’t.
 
And, just because it is the appropriate thing to do.
 
Thank you.
 
A Suprised Y Patron who would never dream of standing there naked as the day she was born – getting dressed in all her glory – in the locker room at the YMCA.

Comments

  1. says

    YIKES. There really are no words to say.

    Thanks for adding me to that impressive list of bloggers on your sidebar. I think they are much better bloggers than I, and I am thrilled to be in their company.