Thinking

23 May

When I used to go to the downtown YMCA Branch (I phrased that sentence in a way that might lead you to believe that I belong to another gym, but I don’t. I do halfhearted pilates on my living room floor, hoping the construction workers outside might peer in. They do not.) I would often see a woman exercising in a one piece swimsuit topped with a pair of jeans. She wore brown leather shoes sometimes and other times she wore white trainers. She would attack the elliptical vigorously for an hour or so and then wander off. And every time I saw her, I thought…lady, your crotch must be a disaster.

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