What's that smell?
Like many North American Homo-sapiens, I took part in the winter ritual of signing up for a gym membership. I swore that this time, I'd actually use that membership. I'd be committed. I'd do more than just piss money away every month.
So far, so good.
I even, believe it or not, like my gym. It's clean. It's never been too crowded, even during this intense period of new year resolution setting. It seems to have plenty of everything, even personal TVs for all of the cardio machines. The music they play is awful, but my new headphones allow me to seal that out.
One thing I can't seal out, though, is the smell. Now, I'm not saying that I smell like roses, especially after sweating profusely for an hour. On Sunday, I got a whiff of the funkiest man at the gym.
I was working in the free weights, trying to rehab my shoulder, when some guy came slowly shuffling by. Once he passed, I swear my nose caught the scent of an odiferous French cheese coated in the feces of a dog that's eaten a pound of fudge. I was initially pretty upset, because obviously the passing gentleman had broken wind in my area.
But when he came back my way, I realized, to my horror and amusement, that he just smelled that way...naturally. Either that or he was carrying a bit of a load in his shorts.
So, if you are a man who goes to one of the gyms in the suburbs of Boston, please ask a friend that you trust to tell you, really and truly, whether you smell like the porta-potty at a chilli cook-off. Pretty please?
Posted by Mr. Eff on 01/30/2007 || link
