The bumps with the bumps around it

Mid September I began taking water aerobics classes, and these are not the kind of classes you see all the little ol’ blue hairs talking in order to catch up on the latest gossip. These are real cardio workouts; though after the first class I was a little worried it wasn’t going to be the right speed for me. That was just the new season warm-up. I may actually be in a little over my head.

I’ve been taking Sophia to swim lessons consistently since she was about ten months and I’ve gotten used to the whole changing-clothes-with-a-toddler locker-room routine. In those locker-room moments everyone is chatting and it’s accepted that everyone is looking around while changing, mostly because we’re simultaneously corralling children while putting are bras and panties back on. Locker-room time after my aerobics class is completely different.

It’s been a while since I’ve been in a locker-room without a child. I guess I’ve forgotten the unspoken rules. When I dress at home I tend to look straight ahead because I’ve been dressing myself for a while now and I don’t really need to look at my legs going into my pants. That gets me some odd looks in a locker-room, even if my eyes are glossed over with a 30-yard stare and were fixated on a coat hooks beside someone. Whatever, I can adapt.

Not that I’ve ever been in a men’s bathroom but I get the feeling that the appropriate behavior for women dressing in a locker-room is similar to men at a urinal. Look at the floor. Look at the floor. Look at the floor. It’s a little silly considering after seeing them in a swimsuit the only secrets left are, how tight do they shave that bikini line and how big are their areolae. Neither are burning questions to me of anyone in my class. Really.

After my third class I was dressing in the appropriately coy manner with my towel wrapped around me. My chin was down to hold the towel up, which forces me to look at the lovely floor. Wouldn’t it be funny if the floor was a mirror? No? Posters on the floor would be nice. General reading material, I would even accept advertisements.

Anyway I overheard a conversation by three women in my class. It was a mother, her teenage or early twenty-something daughter, and aunt. I didn’t know they were related prior to the conversation but to facilitate my storytelling I’m letting you know ahead of time. Oh and I’ve changed the names not to protect anyone, but because I forgot them.

Girl to her mother: Aunt Faye says I should go to the doctor.
Mother: What for?
Girl: For the bumps with the bumps around it.
Mother: I told you to see a doctor about that a long time ago. Maybe you’ll listen to your aunt.

I’m not a nurse or a doctor, but for a place and time in which no one is supposed to look up at each other doesn’t this sound like it could be potentially embarrassing? Just for your information, none of this was whispered. It was said in normal speaking voices about three feet from me in a large echo-y locker-room, and I wasn’t hiding in a locker nor was I the only other person in the room.

The girl walked around a bank of lockers towards the exit but was still in the same room and if I looked up would probably be in my line of sight. I could hear talking but wasn’t paying attention to the words, then out of no where…

Mother loudly to the aunt: Are you telling her to use that wart remover?

Seriously, I don’t know how I didn’t just burst into laughter right there. I finished dressing and got all my stuff together to leave. Moving forward towards the door I put the straps of my bag on my shoulder and fished in my pocket for my keys. I looked up to scope out the exit route and passed right by the girl. Her left arm was raised and her right hand was lifting her left boob for her aunt to look underneath and both of them looked at me as if they just realized all this took place in public. Idiots.

I’m guessing the girl was titty-fucked and got an STD. What do you think?

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