'Da Rules.

Good morning.

Ladies - grab a beverage and sit back for a few moments. You are about to enter the inner sanctum: an Off-Limits topic of conversation that not even we chaps get into. But, Scrubbie needs to bring you along for the ride today. Just between us though, ok?

STEVE - back me up here, ok bud?

I don't know about you ladies - and, frankly, I don't want to know. I don't need to know. But - us guys have a certain... ummmm... etiquette when it comes to public restrooms.

You see... when us fellas gotta go pee - or do anything else for that matter - and we head into a public restroom or locker room - it's "hands-off". Yes, of course you can take that literally... but that's not what I mean here. In such a place, the rule is - "don't talk to the next guy". It's pretty simple really. We don't wanna have a chat about the federal election, weather, the merits of one brand of driveway sealer over another or anything else while we are doin' what we gotta do.

The ONLY exception MIGHT be if there happens to be something REALLY significant going on in the sports world that absolutely demands comment like the Dolphins actually take a game or something like that. And - it would have to be very relevant - i.e. you'd have to be doing this during a break in the game or immediately post-game. But, even then - it's a passing comment. Like "can you believe the 'Phins won?" An acceptable response would be along the lines of "Ya". One syllable, MAYBE two. Three syllable responses - too much.

As Scrubs and Scrubettes 'round the world may already know, Scrubbie here goes to his local work-out facility on a regular basis. Scrubbie's gotta stay in shape and look good or the wife will leave him. Yes, we're both THAT shallow. hehehe Nah - just kiddin'.

Anyway - this morning, I went to the gym and ran a little, lifted a little, pushed a little - ya know, the usual. Then, as usual, went into the Men's Locker Room to get squeaky clean. Can't come home with a stink on. That just ain't right.

So Scrubbie got down to his skivvies, then peeled the rest. (Now - don't go all gettin' hot and bothered here. Just relax....)

Went off to his shower - and thanks to the manly scent of Irish Spring - Scrubbie emerges feelin' gooood.

Returned to my locker where I donned a fresh pair of skiv's and begin sorting the post-workout clothing.

What's this? Hello?

"Did you have a good Thanksgiving weekend?" I am asked.

Who is this person?

"Ya, thanks" Scrubbie replies.

"Lots of family over?" I am asked.

What the hell is goin on here? Who is this person? I don't know him. I don't want to know him. And... he's naked. Naked I say!

Wee Willy Winkie hangin out and flappin in the breeze.

"Yes" I say. I DO NOT pose any questions in return. It's 'da rules.

And, Naked Guy continues to try for some conversation and I continue the primal male grunting-style response of Yeah or Nay. Finally, Naked Guy takes his full moon and the rest of him over to his own side of the locker room where he starts up conversation with another poor sap stuck in his skiv's.

Dude - you have a towel. Don't wave it in the air like you are surrendering to the enemy - USE THE DAMND THING and cover up!

Geez Louise.

Gotta go wash my eyeballs now. Later kids.