I Flashed an Eight-Year-Old Boy. I'm Scarred, not Sure About Him

I'm in the locker room at the gym the other day, hot as hell from spending a good forty minutes in the car on a 90 degree day after a long eight hours at work.  Usually, I err on the side of modesty when I'm undressing with a few other strangers in an open space, but that day, since I was sweating and gross and just wanted to be naked, I threw modesty to the wind and disrobed like a whore on payday.

(Well, I suppose nearly every day is payday for a whore, but I think you get my drift.  Also, obviously the word "whore" can be not-very-nice.  Blah, blah.  Anyway, I got naked.)

About the time I was pulling off my sticky shirt and unhooking my bra, I hear a small voice on the other side of the room.  "Hm," I thought, "sounds like someone has a little girl in here.  Weird."

And indeed, I was correct.  There was a little girl in the locker room. 

There was also a little boy.  Except he wasn't so little.  In fact, I'm pretty sure he clocked in at right about eight or nine years old.


The boy seemed nonplussed at the nakedness going on around him.  He sat on one of the swivel chairs and teased his sister, while I hurriedly tried to cover myself.  And soon enough, yes, they started to PLAY DOCTOR.  I am not kidding.

I am not trying to read innuendo into children's play, but I do want to say that I felt incredibly uncomfortable in the situation.  I don't make it a habit of disrobing in front of children, unless you count that one time...no, nope.  I don't undress in front of kids.  Ever.

I guess I really wondered what the mother was thinking.  She was happy to take her time to finish applying her make-up while her children ran around the room.  Did she not even think for a moment that it might be somewhat inappropriate for her kids--one of them an eight-year-old boy...a small person old enough to have the horrors of my wobbly ass tattooed on his brain FOREVER, or, on the flip side, to have inexplicable, weird fantasies throughout his adult life that involve both sports bras, gym socks, and thirty-year-old redheads--to be in a room full of naked ladies?  And even if she didn't care if he was around naked ladies, didn't she think that maybe some of those ladies might not want to change in front of an eight-year-old boy?

But maybe this is just one of those things where I, the childless curmudgeon, can't possibly understand what it's like to be a mother and try to fit your workout in around your kids.  Please, if this is the case, enlighten me. 

Otherwise, was I justified in being first uncomfortable, and then ticked off?  Those children are not paying members of the gym AND the gym happens to have both childcare AND an outer waiting area where naked ladies do not prance around in their skivvies. 

Sheesh, I still feel dirty. Sorry, kid.