I know it’s the beginning of a new year and I know that you’re all excited to get out and get in shape. You probably keep a well-written record of each and every pound you lose, with color-coordinated highlights for each milestone you make.
But for the LOVE OF GOD, wash your gym clothes.
No you know what, don’t wash your gym clothes. Throw them away.
Wait, even better, burn them; there are microbes growing twixt the cotton fibers of your putrid ensemble of which the people in the Congo are frightened.
How can you not smell yourself? You reach into the gym bag that has been sitting in your car with the same pair of shorts and the same T-shirt since the Clinton Administration, unwashed, baking in the sun season after season and what? you don’t feel the same overwhelming nausea touching that stuff that I get every time you walk by?
How? How is it that you make a conscious decision that these unwashed spore-havens-of-nostril-cruciation are okie-dokie for another day?
Have a donut, sit down on the couch and enjoy a little boob-tube, maybe you should give up exertion all together. Or at least, find another gym.
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