Trump Card

Today I died and went to the Trump. Those who say money doesn't buy happiness have obviously never taken a shower in the locker room at the Trump Tower. Thanks to my very generous boss, I now have the pleasure of getting to pretend I'm very wealthy every morning working  out and rubbing elbows with Chicago's finest (worst/most uppity)  at the Trump gym. But I'm not even going to pretend I enjoy the working out part, I motivate myself to get my ass out of bed in the morning with the thought of the luxurious shower that awaits me. 

I grew up at the Norfolk YMCA. The locker room smelt like piss and B.O., bitch or skank was written and poorly scratched out on virtually every orange locker. Children and old women were free (and I think encouraged) to run around naked making everyone else uncomfortable. And don't get me started on the 1970's hot tub that was only available to the men via the men's locker room. YWCA would be so pissed if they only knew the sexist pigs who run the Norfolk YMCA. But this was all I knew for so many years. I had no idea indoor pools weren't supposed to burn your eyes upon entering them. Some gyms actually offered complimentary towels and water?  No way. Yes way.

 Let me tell you about the Trump. My locker doesn't say bitch anywhere on it (yet), the lock can't be picked with a Bobby pin, so no need to worry about another stolen Starter jacket fiasco. And inside hangs the most plush white robe you have ever felt. I love it. I prance around the locker room like I'm Julia Roberts experiencing a life of luxury in exchange for sex. But I don't get it, I seem to be the only person taking full advantage of the robe, no one else seems to wear theirs. Instead, they often stare at me like, well like I'm Julia Roberts experiencing a life a luxury in exchange for sex. On the counter tops there are hair spray bottles and nail files and razors and combs and makeup remover pads all free for the taking! And even though I told myself not to, I loaded up. I just couldn't help it, these are all little items I often need but forget to buy. There are large containers full of the best exfoliants and body lotions and gels just begging to be put on. Inside the walk-in, multiple shower head, shower there is salon style shampoo and conditioner. Now I sometimes splurge and buy myself the good hair products, but when I do this, I'll admit I'm pretty damn stingy with it. If they say use a quarter size, well I'll pry use a dime size, maybe even a peso, depending on the night. But not at the Trump. I literally dowse myself in shampoo and conditioner. Remember the first time Curly Sue got a real shower? That's kinda how I feel, like a homeless kid introduced to soap and hot water for the first time. I've been late the past two days for work and it's not because I've had long workouts. I've had long ass showers. 

And now it's time for a little Foster the People concert tonight. I'm exited, but I want to keep it under control because I would hate to not make it to the Trump tomorrow morning. My small shower at home just isn't the same, it feels so poor to me. The bath soaps are less than par, there is no one waiting by my sink to offer me a cup of hot tea, and my robe isn't white or plush. I don't even own a robe. Wait, that's not true. I do own a lovely pink robe with my initial on it that I was given at the Potter wedding. And that will do, because it's time for Some Pumped Up Kicks. And yes, that's the only song I know. I guess I'm just mainstream like that.