So I joined a gym in January. Fascinating stuff, right?
It takes a while to put together a really good gym kit. You go, and you think “Boy, my hair is short enough that I don’t need a brush or comb, but I need a portable pot of that stuff that keeps my hair from looking like a dandelion…”
Towels were immediately an issue. I had bath towels and beach towels, and quickly determined that neither were gym-appropriate. I told The Carpenter that I needed gym towels. Since towels form approximately 20% of our laundry by volume and I can get a little fetishy about them, he tried to dissuade me.
I recounted our argument to The Boys as we walked through a discount department store and I browsed towels, looking for the Perfect Gym Towel. Of course they did not even need to have the towel taxonomy explained to them.
The Brunette, who doesn’t even go to the gym because he’s a reprehensible little ectomorph who wouldn’t gain a pound if you fed him a free weight, defined a gym towel as “an inexpensive, medium sized, potentially disposable towel that you wouldn’t care if you lost or if someone used it to clean up jizz”
“Yeah!” I replied in my outdoor voice, as we rounded a corner “But my bath towels, you get cum all over those and I’m like -” and OF COURSE there’s some poor guy standing right there.
The test stands though.