So, this is another gym story. Sorry.

I'm chugging through my workout, as always, when a portly middle-aged man sits down at the weight machine directly opposite me. This is not, in and of itself, strange. First, let me give you a physical picture of this guy.

He's about 5 foot 7 inches, possibly 220 pounds. His complexion, hair color, and craggy features suggest a heritage rich with exotic spices and towering mosques, or the clamoring crowds of a desert market. He has crow's feet around his eyes, and his thinning hair is dusted with grey.

He glances at me, and nods. I flash him a smile between breaths, and close my eyes for a few moments to the beat of Feel Good, Inc.

When I open my eyes again, this guy is cupping his tits and looking at me.

You can imagine, I hope, that this is not an everyday occurrence for me. I mean, I see weird things all the time. I went to the local Mexican hole restaurant for lunch, and there was a hair in my burrito. Gross, but not exactly Twilight Zone, you understand? I saw an old white guy in a bar a couple weeks ago with his arm around an early-20s Asian girl. Possibly not the social norm, but who am I to criticize? C'est amour, non?

Some Mediterranean guy presenting his boobs to me? Not something I usually have pencilled into my PDA. Assuming I used a PDA, which I don't, this might have been my schedule for today:

8:30pm: Go to gym.
8:53pm: Have elasticity of man-titty flesh demonstrated to me by middle-aged Egyptian.
2:35am: Wake up screaming.

I blinked once, then very carefully kept my eyes on the television screen until he went away, possibly to show off his assets to some other unsuspecting victim.

I have no explanation for what happened. In fact, nothing happened. I didn't even write this. You don't even exist.