I'm taking spin classes now at the gym where I excuse myself from being a totally broke performer. I figure as middle age approaches it will be harder to keep from looking like the middle of Jack Nicholson. As such, I sweat through everything I'm wearing as if I were a teenager who just ran into his favorite Playboy Playmate. Now typically, I grab a shower if no one is using it, and if there happens to be one of the girls in the stall and she's under 80, we usually work something out because I'm so incredibly irresistable.
I wasn't out of the shower stall for three seconds when I was immediately called into action like the battle-hardened soldier who was just given weekend passes and an open invite to a Roman orgy. Suddenly I was everybody's urgent Mr. Fixit. I had to deal with everything from computer problems to Johnny needing me "for a few minutes" on a job nearby so I just toweled off and put my clothes on and hit the street. Five hours of construction work later I headed back to the gym to put in three more hours. Spent, I went home, ate and fell fast asleep.
I woke up to a thousand messages on my phone, reminders of the day's errands, and got right to it. I trolled through the audition listings, sent headshot mailings, worked on the screenplay and the live act, made phone calls and realized I had to get to the doc to renew my blood pressure meds and do an oil change on the sensible Honda.
It was then, just as the doctor called me back to the exam room, where I usually end up pantsed for one reason or another, I realized with sickening horror, like the soon-to-be victim of the disfigured slasher in the horror flick you'll be watching this Hallows's Eve who just stepped in the puddle of blood and ooze that used to be his lover's head, that I was wearing yesterdays underwear. Yesterday's spin soaked biohazard that I mistakenly slipped back on in the frenzy of activity.
You know, you learn a lot about yourself when you find yourself standing in a well used pair of underpantaloons getting ready to expose them to your doctor, a total stranger. You discover all the desperate things you'll think of the excuse yourself from the situation. Some things sound smart, some shocking and then there's what I came up with: Sorry, doc, I just "donated sperm" if you know what I mean, so they may be a little sticky....
Outstanding.
3 comments:
I am sure the stench coming from your previous days underwear is like roses compared to the stench rising from my charcter shoes!
You are my hero, can I stalk you?
K: It is not a stench, but more of a fragrance. Your feet however, those are a biohazard.
Malach: I thought you were already stalking me...t
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