Turkish Bath Stare-O-Thon

I did promise that I would talk to you about the time I got busted for drinking. I figure, if we're going to be honest, we better be honest.

First things first though. I reached 150 lbs. three days ago. Hit my goal of weight loss. 7 lbs. in a month. I feel slim and trim. I feel lighter on my feet and my balance seems to be back. That is except when I was in the gym today...the gym I go to today has no barriers in the shower. It's like a very large area that looks like a Greek fight ring. The floor is slimy and there are limited hooks to put your towel. Alright, modesty is a big deal to me. There...I said it. I don't like my junk dangling in front of other dudes. I don't care...but sometimes, people really don't try to hide the fact they check out your junk. Worst, they make it a point to constantly catch glimpses. Anyway, when I entered this pit, there was a guy in the far corner. Look like a tall version of John Oats from Hall & Oats. Yes, hairier than a Persian, yet less hairy than Robin Williams.

I'm as straight as an arrow, but you couldn't help notice...the guy had a third freakin' leg. Yes, his twigs and berries were more like bowling balls and branch. Effe it. There I stood, clearly...ahem...proportionate to my body size, and here's a dude sporting a baby's arm. But get this...he checks out my junk! No b.s. Not a glimpse. Not a glance. Straight up stares. I'm not trying to draw comparisons here, but I tried my hardest not to look. I just can't go for that. But, I'm sure as women have boob radar, dudes have junk sonar. The guy just keeps looking. And here I am thinking "great...guy can't believe he's seen one this small and feels really bad." I half expect him to say something. Like "bro, stereotypes...sorry." Instead, I lather away hoping the following five minutes (the length of my showers) will end soon. So John Oats gets his Pert Plus and leaves. Thank God. I can finally clean the ol' b-crack.

So here's my thought process here:
-pray that we don't share the same locker area
-look around this musty room and look for someone with equal junk size to nod acknowledgement.
-cry silently. Reminding myself like a mantra that I can see my abs now.

So I get out of the shower and head to my clothes. Slightly slumped over until I catch a view of myself in the mirror. I look pretty damn cut. Hope the beotches in the locker room got bandaids...

...until I get to my locker. Guess who's standing on the other side of the locker row? Mr. Private Eyes.

I freeze in place. This can't be real. The locker room is empty. I can hear the water droplets hit the ground from my wet hair, it's that empty. I started humming to break the awkward silence. 'Cause he's looking. You ever feel that someone wants to say something but they don't? I get back to humming. What tune, you ask? It sounds like a mix between "Mary Had A Little Lamb" and "November Rain". It was filler until I can get my boxer briefs on. Yeah...I finally negotiate that. John Oats finally leaves. And I sit at the edge of the bench. Humming has stopped. I look in the mirror that is directly across from me. Sad sack staring back.

Then I start to think...

I'm in the best position anyone could possibly imagine. "Why?" you ask. Think about it...the stereotype is that all Asian dudes have small deezies. Okay...so expectations are low. I couldn't possibly disappoint. I'm pretty normal. So it's going to shock a girl.

And there is the truth you didn't want to know.

I skipped out of the gym. The sun felt great.