Wiggin' Out at the Gym

Something terrible happened at the gym tonight. I ended up on a treadmill beside Smelly Sweaty Guy. This is the guy every gym seems to have who doesn’t feel the need to wear deodorant. I would have moved but there were no other available machines. So my choices were to abort my workout, or tough it out beside SSG. I decided to stay, but I was full of resentment. I may not shower before I go to the gym, but I certainly put on a fresh coat of antiperspirant so I don’t stink up the place. Getting motivated to exercise is tough enough without the negative reinforcement of having to inhale the fragrant fruits of someone else’s armpit glands.

While I was trying to ignore the fact that my nasal hairs were being singed off by the putrid fumes emanating from my neighbor on the treadmill, I reminded myself that human beings didn’t always have an agreeable smell. Deodorant has only been around since the 1880’s. It can’t have been pleasant to be around people before then. Obviously, somebody felt the same way because they invented deodorant. If only the guy beside me on the treadmill had gotten the news.

Happily, for the rest of us personal hygiene has made great strides in the last few hundred years. I remember when the movie “Marie Antoinette” came out, I did some reading about her. One of the things that shocked me the most was what I read about her hair. I always thought the huge beehive hairdos of that time were amazing, especially when you consider the French didn’t have Aqua Net in the 1700’s. Apparently, in the absence of hair spray, lard was used. It didn’t take long for these elegant hairdos to become rancid, and often they would attract vermin like bugs and mice while the women slept. Ladies of the time would carry a special device that looked something like a fondue fork with a bent tip to scratch their itchy heads and perhaps chase off whatever was burrowing around in there. I wonder if Kirsten Dunst would have wanted to play Marie Antoinette if she’d have had to wear one of these five-star roach motels on her head. Lucky for her, in these modern times, it wasn’t necessary.

Life is good now, and if a woman wants to have big, bug-free hair—the technology is in place for her to be able to do it. Unfortunately, if she goes to the gym—she still may have to work out beside Smelly Sweaty Guy.

To Breed or Not To Breed....?

I had a dream last night that I was a daddy. Not the leather pants and paddle type, but the biological kind. I must admit, I’ve been thinking about this for a while now. I’ve just entered my forties (yikes!) and I have to decide if children are something I want to have. I know my parents would love it. I hear them talk about their friends’ grandchildren, and I can tell that they would love to have some of their own. That’s not a great reason for me to bring a human being into the world, however.

I also am at the point where I’m seeing adults from my childhood age into convalescence. Most of them are lucky enough to have children who can take care of them (or at least put them in a home where they can be cared for). I can’t help but wonder what will happen to me in my old age if I don’t have offspring to look out for me. Again, not a great reason for me to bring a human being into the world.

I don’t really feel like I am much of a caretaker. It’s about all I can do not to kill my houseplants. I remember once a good friend of mine left me with her two young children while she ran an errand. She said she would only be out for a few minutes, and the kids were eating so everything should be fine. Famous last words.

Her three year old and I got along great. I could talk to him and he could talk to me and we understood each other. The one year old was a different matter. He let me spoon feed him for a bit, and then suddenly began crying at the top of his lungs. I asked the three year old what mommy did when this would happen and he just shrugged. Thanks, kid.

I tried everything I could think of—making faces, pretending the spoon was an airplane, begging—but nothing was working. I was stumped. So the three year old and I just decided to let the toddler cry while we finished our dinners and stared uncomfortably in the opposite direction.

When my friend got home, she laughed and said the baby just wanted to be held. Honestly that had never occurred to me. Even if it had, I doubt I’d have done that. I was wearing a Burberry shirt, for pete’s sake. That baby had more food on him than in him.

So much for my innate parenting skills.

I do see that there are some rewards in raising children though. My friends who are parents (straight and gay) say it’s the best thing they ever did. Maybe I could find a nice lesbian couple who would do most of the child-rearing, and I could be the cool uncle or step-dad who pitched in every now and then. Maybe if I were in a stable relationship and had someone who could be daddy #2, I would even consider being the custodial parent. Either way, I’d have some help.

I guess what I’ve decided is that I need to bring another human being into MY world, before I start bringing human beings into THE world.