As I often do, I went for a run today at lunchtime. After showering I returned to where I had
left my stuff, which had been moved along the bench someway as someone else had
opened their locker. But there were no
pants. Oh, I thought, I must have left
them in my locker. I’ll just nip out in my towel, I thought (my locker is
outside the changing rooms, in the basement).
Thunk, as the door closes behind me. Building pass safely in my wallet,
inside the changing rooms.
So there I stand, stranded, in only my towel. A few minutes pass. A chap appears, but he has no access to the
changing rooms. A few more minutes
pass. I begin to wander around the
basement, then I hear the door go – I give chase. A woman is disappearing around the corner but
a yell turns her around. “Don’t ask” I say as she kindly opens the door for me.
So I am back inside, but still pantless.
There are a pair of grey CK boxers inside this chaps locker. I pick them up as her comes round the
corner. He says our pants have been
mixed up. Worse, he is wearing my pair. To be fair he is very apologetic, but
it’s too late, I have already glanced at the pants in my hand, his pants, his
horribly skidded pants. We swap, but
having seen evidence of the state of his arse, there is no way I am wearing
them – so here I now sit, typing this, commando.
Quickish run though.
