Yesterday when I finished my swim, I was the only person in my section of the women’s locker room. That doesn’t mean I was alone. On the contrary, it was clear there was another person in there with me on the other side of the lockers, because I could clearly hear her cell phone conversation.
“Dat Joe is a playa. His sh*t really makes me mad. He gotta stop f*ckin’ with me like dis. His dick is…”
It was a long, angry and foul stream of language that made me instinctively hide my iPhone and car keys because I worried that I was sharing the locker room with a bonafide gang member. Just as I was in the process of sliding the cash from my wallet into my pocket, I heard another voice interrupt her with a pissy, “Shh. Please?!”
“Oh, sorry,” she responded.
I wanted to step around the lockers and get a look at the woman who shushed her. Because I’ve always wondered exactly what “balls the size of Texas” look like.
pithypants 
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