On Monday I go to the gym where things happen, but I can’t say what things – the annoying part about having a semi-successful blog is that you don’t know who’s reading it so you can’t say much about anyone. So I can’t share what’s been happening in the gym over the last few weeks in connection some other guy who works out there. Even though I really wish it would stop. Oh well.
What I can share is that on Monday in the gym after doing legs and abs, I go in the changing room, undress, wear a towel, leave my underwear on a bench by mistake, go shower, come back, remember that I’ve left my underwear there, realise they have been stolen. And this is a pair of boxer-briefs from Calvin Klein, black, with a grey/silver waistband that my sister bought me for my birthday or name day or something or other this year. Because I don’t buy any underwear apart from daggy ones from Marks & Spencer’s these days of course. (Thanks Brendan for the term daggy)
Then I get dressed and go upstairs and ask the woman at reception whether anyone handed a dirty pair of underwear in, and unfortunately the woman says no. Not that I’m complaining really, I would have done the same. We know the rules: anything left in the changing room for more than 9 seconds without a visible owner no more than three feet away is up for grabs.
Later at home I find out that another gymnast has accepted my facebook friend request, and this is a particularly good one, because:
a) His profile is linked to his girlfriend’s (I like that)
b) He is short and blond and tan
c) He has lots of pictures of himself going out getting pissed with his mates
…but best of all…
d) He has two photo albums of going surfing in Newquay (if I weren’t so contemptuous about the use of exclamation marks I would put two right here)
And on this Monday evening at 2045, this is who I want to be: a short, blond, tan gymnast with a girlfriend, several drinking buddies and camping surfing holidays in Newquay (9.8/10)
And on this Monday evening at the same time really, I am: a short, pale, brown-haired non-gymnast with a boyfriend, several buddies I don’t want to drink with and B&B surfing holidays in Newquay (6.3/10)
On Tuesday at work A Girl finds this website which calculates your body fat if you put in your height, weight and Body Mass Index, and the concept that a website can work this out from a distance without any real life measurements is so ridiculous that we have to try it. A Girl calculates her body fat, then calculates my body fat and then as a bonus she calculates the body fat of this guy at work who we choose at random, mainly because he’s bleeding annoying.
Because we don’t know his exact height and weight, A Girl has to estimate those, which she does, and eventually gets back to me with:
“I have estimated ___’s body fat percentage as 230%. I do think that’s likely, but I’ll go back and check my calculations just to make sure”.Then we go to the local graveyard for lunch and take pictures of each other lying on the graves.