I just got out of the shower and wanted to make a quick post. Yea, I know: hot, steamy, sexy image for all of you to imagine. Please try to contain yourselves.

Uh, yea.

Anyway, I decided to head over to the weight room of my apartment complex and get in a late workout this evening. I'm always faced with the dilemma of when I should exercise. When I get in from work the first thing I want to do (after checking my e-mail--I'm a geek after all) is plop down on the couch. I'm usually not chomping at the bit to work out as soon as I step in the door, but to be honest, I never am regardless. Of course, right when I get home is the ideal time as I haven't eaten dinner yet and getting it out of the way leaves the rest of my evening free. So, yesterday I did just that.

The problem with this plan is that everyone else has the same idea. They get off work and want to burn a few calories before they go eat their low carb or all Jell-O or only foods that end in -amburger dinners. When I arrived there the other day, four of the six machines were already taken and someone was doing sets of weights. I don't know what you call that particular station, and it is largely irrelevent, but the apparatus can best be described as the Vishnu of weight machines with its many leg, chest, shoulder, and arm stations radiating out from the center. On the plus side, four of the five exercisers were attractive young women. At least I wouldn't be suffering too much.

I strolled in and stood before one of the wall mirrors, flexing bulging biceps and tightening my well-toned abs. I addressed the ladies, all of whom were trying not to look but couldn't help but steal glances at my finely-chiseled body. "It's okay ladies," I said confidently. "I have a permit to carry these guns." A few of them laughed and looked away, shyly, while another winked at me and bit her lip playfully. The much smaller lad using the weight machine backed away and offered the press bench to me in a placating gesture. I gave him a nod and a smile and proceeded to destroy several sets without breaking a sweat. I got up to get a drink of water and returned to find that the younger man had slipped back on hoping to match his strength with mine. He grunted a little but the bar stood fast. He sat up quickly when he saw me coming, but looked down at his feet, dejected. I patted his shoulder with my strong, muscular hand, and said, "Buck up, kiddo, it took me a lot of hard work to get where I am. But you've got heart, and that goes a long way. Let me show you. Try again." He gave me a doubtful look but laid back down on the bench and put his hands on the bar. He pushed hard, but nothing happened at first.

"Close your eyes and really strive to move those weights, kid," I coached. As he did I reached over and grabbed hold of the bar with one hand. As he exerted himself again I lifted upward and a look of amazement crossed his face--he was actually doing it! Or so he thought. He opened his eyes to behold his triumph and spotted my deceit. He smiled and I let the bar back down slowly so not to crush his meager frame.

"Thanks, mister," he said, and the ladies tried to pretend like they hadn't seen it.

"You just need a little more self-confidence, kid, and you'll go places," I said back, flashing a smile at one of my admirers. She missed a step on the treadmill and had to grab hold of the railings to avoid stumbling. I worked through a few more sets and then sat down on the bike, cranking up the settings. It was still too easy, but at least the movement helped stretch the massive muscles in my thighs. As I sat there, cranking out miles after mile, the others finished their respective workouts, each one staggered by a few minutes at a time. As they passed my cycle on their way out, they one by one stopped and regarded me for a moment. They all found a bare patch of skin (my palm, my leg, my arm) and wrote out their first names and phone numbers. I smiled at each in turn and watched them as they strutted out the door.

Then I heard harp music playing and everything went all wobbly. I found myself pulled from a daydream and standing in the workout room again. Alas, I was not rippling, nor chiseled, nor even hand-crafted from the softest balsa. Perhaps I should just buy Strong Bad's Ab-Abber 2000 and draw on my own rock hard abs. I stood staring at the exercise bike, and glancing over it at the four attractive ladies in the room, none of whom even looked up when I walked through the door. I took a deep breath, knowing the next thirty minutes might be painful, and pushed a few buttons. I was on my way and sat there wondering the whole time if "So, come here often?" was an appropriate way to kick off a conversation with anyone there. Occasionally I would try to catch someone's eye and flash a smile, but I was met with blank faces and quick looks in the other direction. The workout passed slowly and uneventfully and when I left I can honestly say the only phone number I took with me was my own.

Of course, none of that was really germane to this post, I just threw it in for fun. What I really wanted to write about came up this evening, post workout. I went over later this evening to avoid the crowds and was happy to find that I had the room all to myself. This meant that I could sit and read while I cycled or watch whatever I wanted on the TV. I opted for The Daily Show and was content to laugh out loud without embarrassment. Supreme Court nominee John Roberts' picture subtitled "Judge Cutie". Classic.

When I got back I was ready for a shower. After all, no one likes a sweaty Kato. I hopped in the tub and turned on the water and damned if it wasn't way too hot. Now, you have to understand, I live alone. So in all fairness, the only person who could possibly have access to the shower knob is me. But in the 24 hours since my shower the night before, I was almost 100% certain I had not touched said faucet. I suppose I could have gotten up and decided to take a bath in my sleep or something, but I didn't wake up drowned so I'm ruling that out. So, if I had it perfectly tuned the night before, what the hell happened? Why so very hot?? Why does Heatos, the god of Water Heaters, rain down his wrath upon his devoted servant?

I can only come to one conclusion: Shower Knob Gnomes.

They sneak in during the day while you're at work and they fiddle with your knobs. They are in the same guild as the Underpants Gnomes, I believe, and their profit model is likely just as inscrutable. I can't honestly say I know their motives, only that they're surely to blame for scalding my precious nether regions. It's okay, I guess I didn't really want to have kids.

So, let this be a lesson to you all: never let a gnome near your knobs. Advice for the ages.

Tags: Exercise, Humor, Life