You finally get the urge to sign up to a gym. You agree to pay upwards of forty quid a month to experience sweat and pain. In return the gym agree to give you an induction and three free training sessions with a personal trainer. You imagine them to be toned, tanned and in perfect shape.
I don’t enjoy exercise. I do not enjoy the gym. The only reason I exercise and go to the gym is because I hate my body and am sick of staring down at a podgy pale stomach and something akin to tits. I am desperately trying to avoid the onset of middle-aged spread.
So what I really don’t need when I have just exercised for 40 minutes and am tired and puce is to go into the changing room and be confronted by sweaty blokes with their cocks hanging out like it’s perfectly normal to be naked in front of people YOU HAVE NEVER MET.