So I was at the gym working out today, and I was on the Elliptical runner, which has these handels that sort of stick upright in a way that I never really thought of as phallic before today...

...groan...yet another perfectly innocent thing to have creepy memories attached to...

For those of you who don't know me, let me spell this out to you so you don't wonder what's going on.  I've got monstrously huge mutant boobs.  No, they are not the results of surgery.  They are Anomalously large original equipment.  Even when I was very skinny, with a body fat percentage of around 11, I had a DD boobs.  This is why I am really not interested in getting much thinner than I am now...they sort of blend in a little on a bigger frame.

This has lead to a fairly substantial amount of unwanted attention over the years, some of it downright agressive and physical and occasionally violent...and has lead to me being just a little sensitive about the whole male attention phenomonon.

So I'm at the gym on the eliptical runner, and I 'm sweating up a storm, as one does...and so when I'm done I do the polite thing:  I get a paper towel and a spray bottle and wipe my sweat off the equipment...just like the nice sign asks us to...

When the one other person in the gym...one of those freaks that's all biceps and pectorals and beer gut, you know the type...anyway, we're alone in the gym and he says something to me, so I take off my earphones and say “What?”

And he says...

”I said, you do that really good.”

And I realize that I'm standing there with my hand wrapped around this very large phallic handle...and he's got this creepy grin on his face, and I've just got the “eew. eew. eew. eew. eeew. eew. eew. eew.“ loop tape going in my head, and I try to think of something to do or say, and the seconds are just stretching out and most of me wants to just leave my shit where it is and run away...and the inner hoodlum comes to the rescue and says...

“But not as good as yo momma, though...am I right?“

 So he gets this really mad look on his face and says “you're sick“...really quiet and really low...and I grabbed my stuff and exited stage left...glad he didn't just pulverize me like he looked like he wanted to, glad there was a door that he WASN'T in between me and it, glad in the certain knowledge that if I was stuck in the room with a crazy mofo, I'd take at least one of his eyeballs and one of his testicles with me if he tried anything...

...glad I'm home, alone, in a locked house and Jon Stewert is on the TiVo.

Sometimes, as my friend Rick so elequantly puts it...I just fucking hate human beings.