Now for something completely differant

So, I'm at my gym, and I'm running late for a water aerobics class. I speed past the reception desk, barely stopping to let them scan my key tag and I high tail it to the locker room, and start looking for an empty locker, when I realize of the 2 women kitty corner to where I am, one's looking at me, like checking me out. And not in a good way.

I'm a woman with a mission, and I shrug this weirdo off and start to take my clothes off and all of a sudden, stalker woman says "Oh my God," and I immediately turn my head in her direction out of pure impulse, "I think we wear the same bra size." How much more non-sequitur could that comment have been? I'm not even processing this really, I'm just kind of waiting for the punchline or the explanation or for someone to show up from the Publisher's Clearing House with the cameras and the big check. This woman is matronly, and busty and old. And I'm really not any of those things. And I'm starting to creep right out.

I must have had a 'does not compute' look on my face because she volunteers an explaination which I really didn't care to hear nor want. "I have to go to work," she says, as if she's on some kind of radio call in show, "and I'm not wearing a bra." Thanks for sharing I think, and then it dawns on me. Like the light bulb literally clicks on and I realize, much to my horror, that this complete stranger, this dumpy, slightly slovenly woman, is actually trying to score my bra. And I'm trying to actually process this whole thing.

"Well, you could go home," I hear someone say and realize that it is, in fact me, and also realize that my arms are instinctively crossed in front of my breasts and my hands are aching because I'm holding on to my biceps for apparent dear life, "or, you could just go commando," I say, trying to be funny and make light of the situation while trying to figure out how I can get myself away from this crazy woman and into the pool.

"I clean houses," she continues on her voluntary autobiography of bralessness. "And the, um, man works from home. He can't, you know, see my boobies." This was just getting odder and odder as we went on.

In my horrified state I said 2 things "I'd love to give you my bra, because you are right, it would fit perfect, but it's dirty," none of which was true. "And just so you know, I can't see your tits through your shirt so you should be fine." Which was true, and I doubt the work from home man would even realize that she was sans brazier. She smirked and rolled her eyes and said "They are boobies."

I just shrugged at her, snapped the lock shut on my locker and with a self satisfied smirk on my face, walked out to the pool, secure in the knowledge that the only boobies touching my bra would be mine.