the full brazillian

Fridays are a great day in my life. It is the end of five days of torture, otherwise known as work. It is the end of getting up early, then end of smiling through the idiots at the office and the end of five days at the gym.

I love Fridays.

I don’t like going to the gym. I don’t like thinking about going, don’t like walking through the door, don’t like the actual rat-on-the-wheel workout, don’t like much about it all actually. I do like the moment when I’m leaving the gym, walking out those doors, the whole thing over and done with. Yahoo.

And I hate communal things, like the locker room at the gym. I mind my own business, change in the toilet stall and all that. Some women don’t have that problem. Take for instance, the freak at the gym on Friday. I was almost finished putting my shoes on and about to leave. She came in and stood about a foot away from me. I was bent over doing something. From my position, with my head now at knee level, I saw pants slide down and bare leg and thought, “seriously.”

Why is it that some people think no one will mind? What the hell makes her think that I want her that close to me in her birthday suit. “Lady, move over. It’s not like there isn’t room.” But I said nothing. As I straightened up I got to crotch level and freaked. There it was, right in my face, her fucking Hoo Hoo. I made some sort of sound and bolted. Don’t ask me what she looked like because I didn’t get that far.

But I can tell you that she had a full Brazillian.