I Know I'm A Grown Woman

But there are just some things my mama never warned me about and I'm still not quite prepared for.

Today I encountered one of these things. Er, rather, people.

The Locker Room Nude Talker.

I met her today. Maybe there's more. Maybe there's a colony.

I have always been insanely modest. Modest is a nice way of saying I have never wanted anyone to see what I cover with clothes. When I was 8 years old I earned a reward to spend the night at my 3rd grade teacher's house. It was my one and only childhood overnight. There were about 6 other girls who also won. When it was time to get into our pajamas, I remember just being shocked when all these little girls, all these nice, normal girls I spent my days with, just started flinging off their clothes left and right. None of them cared who saw their skivvies. I on the other hand, crouched down in a little space by the bed and bedstand and worked myself up into a frenzy and a sweat trying maneuver my arms, legs, body, and pajamas in a space and a manner just isn't really human possible, except for by Houdini.
And maybe Michael Scott.

It could be because I have six brothers. But I think some people are just born like that. Avee seems to be set on the entire free world seeing what she was born with, all before noon. And although Bo constantly has his little crack showing, when he's aware he is very modest.

High school locker rooms--nightmare. Same in college. I either stalled or got dressed balancing myself over disgusting toilets. That was always more appealing. Sometimes I would just do mind over matter, or mind over white granny panties, and just get dressed like everyone else after swim class. It was never easy.

Now, I go to the Y. I get dressed in the shower. If you ever pass by the showers, you can see me hiding behind the curtain, never more than a stark white arm streaking out to grab my next article of clothing. That's as risque as it gets with me.

So, today after Bootcamp (uh yes Kim, I'm going, where ARE YOU!?) I thought I'd hit the sauna for a brief sweat. I went into the locker room, plunked my exhausted hind end down on a bench and proceeded with the difficult task of removing my tennis shoes and socks.

Enter Nude Talker. She looked innocent enough in her gym clothes. So when she struck up conversation with me, I innocently and willingly responded. Bootcamp this, Bootcamp that--she tried it, it's too hard on her most days. Yoga, weight lifting, swimming, etc. It was all good. I was continuing with concerted effort on my laces, and she was quickly stripping down. I did my normal, "Boy my shoes are sure fascinating, I've never really studied the stitching on them, wait, what's that...is that a purple thread going around the "N" of my New Balance shoes..." that I do every time someone within proximity has removed that which keeps us from ever having to use our imaginations.

I figured I could pull off the astute studying of my shoes and leg hairs for the minute or two it would take her to put on her suit. Or do whatever it is she was stripping down for.

The problem: Every time she spoke, after she was nekkid, she stopped dressing. She'd just stand there talking, in all her glory. At first I thought it was accidental. And then it started to look an awful lot like she really liked being nekkid. I kept looking down, but a normal person can only do that so much in a conversation. And I'm nothing if I'm not normal. Then when I realized the pattern of stalled dressing in relation to her talking, I started talking nonstop. I'm not really a nonstop kind of talker, I'm more of a "you know what I mean" "what do you think" kind of talker, with strangers at least. So it wasn't easy. THEN she stopped trying to cover herself to show me how intently she was listening to my nonstop talking. It was all going so wrong, so fast.

Finally I found an ever so slight pause in the "conversation" and I quickly made my exit.

My mom was a good mom. She really prepared me for a lot in life. But, she really dropped the ball with this one. You can be sure, I will warn my children of these types. I can't send them out into the world, or into locker rooms, unawares. And I guess I should cover this topic just to make sure none of them ever become the nude talker.

You know, more power to those who are that comfortable in their own skin. In nothing more than their skin... but really, they need to have compassion on the Me's of the world. The woman who never outgrew being a modest-chicken 7 year old at a slumber party.