Sometimes, when you're at the gym, there's another person in the locker room. And sometimes, that person is walking around naked.
And because you were raised with stricter ideals on propriety and Puritanical-esque beliefs on nudity, you do as anyone in a situation as this would and you avert your eyes and try to give the other person a sense of privacy while you fiddle with your earbuds and one of the eighteen apps on your phone you use while working out.
But then the naked person starts talking.
About your hair.
And you momentarily curse yourself for being so effing noticeable.
You keep your eyes down as you go over the basics that most people ask -- yes, I did it myself; it's actually demi-permanent, which means it washes out slowly and fades to a more pastel color; purple's been my favorite color since I was four, so yeah, it pretty much stays a shade of purple -- occasionally darting up to meet the other person's eyes in a vain attempt to seem way less freaked out about the situation than you actually are.
It's not that you have a problem with nudity -- you don't, really, anymore thanks to the kids and their father -- you've just never really been in this situation before and it's just the two of you in there and usually you're the only one in the locker room because this gym is so small and usually full of dudes, so the shock of someone talking to you is compounded by their lack of clothing as they do so.
And somehow you get to talking about children, though you honestly don't know how because you're concentrating so hard on not embarrassing the other person or yourself that your mouth is completely on autopilot and you start talking about your special needs son and the other person starts asking very specific, technical questions that snap you back into the conversation for a minute and they reveal that they're an occupational therapist as they FINALLY put on a shirt and some pants and you're finally able to not feel like a creeper even though they approached you.
And you discover this person is an OT with the school district your kids go to.
Which, because this gym is inside a community center that gives free memberships to the families of the specific school building your kids attend, makes you wonder if this person works at your kids' school.
And you think back to the questionnaire you filled out a couple of weeks ago, after Kiedis' IEP meeting, about having him reevaluated for pretty much everything under the sun including OT, and that the last name of the person doing the evaluation was actually the same unusual last name as your veterinarian, who has been your family's veterinarian since you were about ten and is the sister of someone your dad used to work with (because after a while you end up knowing pretty much everyone through someone else if you stay in Dayton long enough) and you start noticing that there's a striking resemblance between your vet and this person who just moments ago was completely naked in front of you, like they could be siblings.
All while you're talking one of your better special needs parent games about services and resources and techniques to help Kiedis at this stage in his life.
Then the other person tells you that they think you're a great parent because you obviously do your research and that your kids -- both of them -- are lucky to have you and you feel bad for feeling awkward about them being naked in front of you as the two of you exit the locker room and they depart to leave and you go on to run on the treadmill. You both say your goodbyes and you continue on with your workout, thinking a little more about the things they suggested you try at home.
And two things cross your mind.
You don't remember talking about Tova at all, so how did they know you have two kids?
You are 85-90% certain you just met your son's new occupational therapist and you've now seen them naked.