A Slow Week, Which Meant It Was Easier To Get To B3ta's "Best Answers" Page For "Question Of The Week"

This week's question:

Not-stalgia

Willenium tugs our sleeve and says: Tell us why the past was a bit shit. You may wish to use witty anecdotes reflecting your own personal experience.

My answer:

The middle school approach to gym nakedness

Youth was nerve-wracking, full of abrupt demands to comply with irrational rules. I remember the transition from elementary to middle school as being particularly worrisome. In elementary school, recess was carefree, but in middle school, physical activity was more regimented. I worried about showering with other boys. What good could come from that? I lost sleep over it.

First came the gym clothes. We were required to purchase clothing and write our names on it using magic marker. Since the ink bled, the letters had to be large to be legible, but of course, the larger the letters, the shorter the name had to be. Planning the damned thing was hard. And no mistakes either.

Then there was the jock strap. I didn't know such exotic semi-clothing even existed, but to protect our precious balls, we were required to wear one. The arse, of course, was fully-exposed.

The locker room was a dark warren of lockers packed with smelly, sweaty clothing, lorded over by my classmates, a pack of baboons. Resembled the opening of "2001: A Space Odyssey", excepted that they were all hairless.

The first day of gym class, I stripped down, and carefully put on the jock strap. The locker room fell silent. I looked around and realized everyone's mouth was agape. Despite the clear written requirement, no one else had actually complied and bought a jock strap. Everyone else had briefs. I was the only one with an exotically-exposed arse. Much hooting from the baboons.

The shower was a nightmare too. I had a protruding breast bone from inadequate calcium nutrition when I was three, and it attracted attention. At one point, I was the target of a towel-snapping attack by a cluster of naked baboons. I lunged to grab a towel, missed, and grabbed the baboon leader's bollocks instead. Which led to much more hooting and an accelerated attack.

These days, if I want physical activity, I go to aerobics classes full of exotically-dressed women. Better for the psyche.