Please put on some clothes

I saw the naked guy from the gym at Staples.

So I am standing in line at Staples waiting to check out and this guys walks by me that looks oddly familiar.  As he walked away I still could not place how I knew him.  And then like a bag of bricks it hit me over the head, he is the creepy hairy dude that walks around the gym locker room naked.  This is the guy that always manages to cough when he bends down to pick up his towel.  He has perfected the ten minute air drying technique that includes lunges and squats.  He has the towel, but refuses to use it to dry off or sit on while he sits down to put his socks on.  Yes, he puts his socks on first.

The guys finally circles back around to the checkout lane.  There is that second where he sort of recognizes me and gives me the dude head nod.  A week later I am back at the gym and naked dude has put two and two together and realizes that he saw me buying paper the week before.  For some reason he thinks this is an excuse to start up a conversation, and become friends.

I am no longer a member of that gym, or any for that matter.

I Go (went) Commando!

Have any of you (men only) ever received this phone call from your mother…”honey what size underwear to you wear? I am at Kohls and they are having a great sale on underwear.” I have not had to take one of these phone calls in a long time, but it reminds me of the last time I did. I think it was the summer after my senior year of high school. I can remember telling my parents I was going to go play football or something with some of my buddies and then spend the night out. I have no idea how I was able to get away with this, but I wasn’t about to argue. The truth is we were all going to the park to have a cook out and drink…football was not on the menu. By late in the afternoon I had a pretty good buzz going when my cell phone rang. Figuring, rather hoping, it was one of the many girls we had invited, but didn’t come, I answered. The female voice on the other side asked…”what size underwear do you wear”. Buzzed and intrigued, I answered with something like…”I don’t wear underwear”. The reply on the other line was not what I was hoping for…’this is your mother, what the hell kind of answer is that?’


Needless to say my mother never asked any questions about my underwear again, and I never get underwear for Christmas or my birthday. So besides the strange looks the next morning at the breakfast table the whole thing worked out pretty well.

So now every time I see a middle aged women standing in front of the underwear section at Target with a bewildered look on her face I always think…’just call him, I am sure now is the perfect time to discuss your teenage son’s underwear’.