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.