I Love The Word Bacchanal

Now that all the drama of Skin Cancer Recovery has died down, you all will be pleased to know that the drama of my everyday life has perked back up…and not just because we got our ridiculous cat. Mostly because weird things seem to happen to me in locations that shouldn’t be weird.

For example, you would think one place that would be somewhat drama-free would be the gym.

It is interesting to note that, if you did think this, you were horribly wrong.

The gym SHOULD be a drama free sanctuary where you can exercise and feel good about your dedication to physical fitness…even if the fruits of that dedication are noticeably and constantly sabotaged by your equal devotion to chocolate and wine.

And, to be honest, the gym itself and the pool where I swim laps usually is a sweet nest of serenity. It’s the gym locker room that presents difficulties.

Because the gym locker room is filled with women, of all ages and sizes, who clearly don’t share my body image issues.

By which I mean they prance around the locker room as bare-assed naked as nymphs at a Bacchanal. 

Actual footage of my
gym locker room.

I, on the other hand, do NOT prance around the locker room in this fashion. After swimming, I wrap my body and my hair in two separate towels, put on my cover up and wander into the locker room steadfastly averting my gaze from the sea of naked surrounding me and assaulting my eyes at every turn. 

Today, though, as I made my way to my locker, stepping between 2 ladies older than my mom, got my stuff out, and began heading back to the shower area, I dropped a flip flop.

Doesn't seem like that big of a deal, does it?

All I did was drop a flip flop.

But as I leaned down to pick it up, one of the ladies took a misstep, half-tripped, took 2 or 3 steps back and basically STUCK HER BUTT IN MY FACE! 

That's right, there I was in the locker room, BARE ASS flying at my face...and I would have been fully BUTT-FACED, except, of course, months of protecting my nose from injury have given me my ninja skills and cat-like quickness.  I flung myself--especially my FACE--out of the direction of her descending derriere, which made me body-slam myself into the other older lady like Kelly Chase in his glory days (she had managed to get some underwear on by then, thank God), and somehow flop down onto the bench between us. 

And did the Butt-Facer apologize?

NO!

She was too busy fussing over the other woman that I crashed  into...like this whole mess was MY fault, like I should have just let myself be ASSaulted (see what I did there?) without a care in the world.

I may never get over it. I'll have nightmares about butt-facing for years. I might need therapy...or at least lots of wine.

In any case, the point of this story is, my life is as dramatic as it ever was, my ninja skills are top shelf, and if any of you are planning to join a gym in order to get a jump on a New Year’s Resolution, BE CAREFUL WHERE YOU PUT YOUR FACE.

(PS: Because I like to give credit where credit is due, I want to note that the painting above is by French artist Jean-Baptiste Marie Pierre.)