I See London, I See France . . .
This morning, I was awoken earlier than anticipated by my cleaner. I think I must have been at D's the past several times she has come because I had no idea she enters the flat at the ass-crack of dawn. Hearing someone else's keys scraping in your lock whilst you are still slightly comatose is not the most welcome sound. But it was fine, I bolted out of bed, threw some clothes on and decided it was my wakeup call to get my booty to the gym.
So I went, and quite enjoyed myself. A bit of treadmill, a bit of elliptical, a bit of weight lifting, a bit of stretching. A nice 45 minutes all to myself. The New Gym On the Walk to Work has a ladies only room, which is actually fabulous. I can huff and puff and sweat like a pig and not feel like the beefcakes are just standing around waiting for me to finish using my paltry weights so they can get on and grunt their testosterone-laden hearts out.
I went down to the locker room and pulled out the things I would need for my shower. Now, as D has not yet sold his flat (but it's scheduled to complete at the end of October!) I still never know where I will be sleeping each night. Rather than let "lack of clean gym clothes" be an excuse to avoid working out this week, I brought a week's worth into the office, since I know I'll be there daily. (Unfortunately.) I dumped most of the kit into a drawer and pulled out one day's worth to schlep around in my gym bag. After the shower, I went to put on some clean underwear, a bra and a tank top to go and sort out my hair. And therein lay the problem. No underwear. None. Clearly, in my haste to escape the office yesterday, I missed that one crucial bit of gym kit.
Faced with the problematic pant situation, I went off to tame into submission the unruly beast that is my hair. And therein I came to a conclusion. There was no way in hell I was putting my stinky-sweaty-gymmy underwear back on. So I was left with no choice.
I went commando.
What else could I do? I figured that I couldn't have been so dumb as to forget ALL underwear for the week and it was only a five minute walk to the office and underwear nirvana. Thankfully, I wore trousers today, rather than a floaty-flowy-god-forbid-short skirt. But let me tell you, going commando is WEIRD. You feel the thighs rubbing and the clothes chafing and all sorts of things you never think about when you have underwear to protect you from any such indignities.
P.S. I'm wearing underwear now.
