From time to time, we read in the newspapers of sick perverts who steal women’s underwear in university hostels.  Never did I imagine that I would fall victim to such audacity today.

(No, in case you are wondering, I do not wear women’s underwear.  Now let me continue with the story …)

After visiting my dad in hospital, I decided to check the nearby SAFRA gym out using my complimentary access pass.  Upon finishing my workout, I left my sweaty gym wear at the communal bench in the male shower room (no it wasn’t a communal shower) and proceeded to wash up.  When I returned to the bench, only my running top remained.  The shorts was missing.

I checked - several times - to be sure that I did not drop it by accident while carrying it from the bench to the locker, or from the bench to the shower, etc.  No such luck.  I can only imagine that some sick pervert must have taken my shorts. 

I was sorely tempted to glare at everyone in the changing room to see if the culprit would own up.  But I decided that that might just send everyone in the changing room - all in various stages of undress - a wrong signal of the queer kind.

I suppose I could be quite flattered that someone finds my sweaty running shorts desirable enough to be worth stealing.  Even Joyce cannot bring herself to let me hug her, post-workout.

I am in fact quite upset.  This is my newest set of running attire, and probably the last of its size for the season which, I would proudly add, I had bought at a substantial discount a couple of months ago.  Now all I have left is a running top without a matching bottom.  (I think at least that much of me is metrosexual).

If you happen to be the sick pervert who stole my shorts, I hope you suffer from some major rash at whichever part of your body you apply it to.