By: Leslie Goldman

Nov 29, 2009

One particularly fun Thanksgiving topic of conversation for my family included the recent Adam Lambert AMA crotch-grinding incident. Not surprisingly, my father, from whom I inherited approximately 0% of my social views, felt this sort of thing should never have made it on air, and was a visual assault to all who were forced (at their own hands) to witness it.  You know, because we all have gay pro-crotch picketers marching around our family rooms, forcing us to keep the channel tuned to boundary-pushing musical performances and propping our eyelids open with Clockwork Orange toothpicks.

My mom skillfully and swiftly changed the topic when she saw Dan and I about to erupt, but the fact is, the American Idol star was hardly the first – or last – crotch assault I endured over the weekend. I don’t know if their brains are confused from all of the turkey tryptophan or what, but the normally nice men and women who frequent my gym have morphed into Girls Gone Wild-style exhibitionists over the past few days. The following three crotch sightings took place, all since Thursday:

1.       Woman A, mid-40s, always works out in a black tank and black bike shorts. While I was stretching, she was lying on the ground about 10 feet away, doing leg lifts. This woman loves doing leg lifts; they’re her version of my Stepmill – a must-do. So she’s lifting away and I glance over and see a small, quarter-sized hole has eroded away in the crotch of her bike shorts. And she does not appear to be wearing undergarments because I can see the pale tone of her skin popping out against the black Spandex backdrop. This bothers me on multiple levels, not the least of which is the fact that precisely one month ago, I saw the same woman committing the same sin and I actually approached her and TOLD HER! I walked over, bent down so I didn’t need to scream over her iPod, and the following convo took place:

Me: “Hi. I’m only telling you this because I’d want someone to tell me…”

Her: (Before I have even said word one about her crotch shot, she clamped her hand furiously down over crotch. So without me even telling her about the wardrobe malfunction, she knew she had a hole in an embarrassing location.) “Oh my God, can you see anything?”

Me: “Not yet, but very soon, we all will.”

Her: “Thanks so much for telling me.”

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And yet, the situation had not been rectified. Nearly equally disturbing: Why was I looking at her crotch long enough to notice this in the first place?

2.       Man B, late- 50s, doing ab crunches next to me (and two down from Holey Bike Short Lady). He’s wearing loose, knee-length, Champion-style shorts and a tee shirt. He is in classic sit-up position. His loose shorts have fallen towards his hips and pooled there, revealing an odd white elastic-looking band wrapped his left buttock. I quickly realize this is a jock strap and I am being forced to look at it.  Actually, nobody is forcing me –I could easily swing around and stare at Holey Bike Short Lady’s cotton-and-Spandex fissure. But the sight of tight elastic pressing into the hairy area where this man’s hamstring meets his rear end is like a solar eclipse or car crash, and I am unable to avert my eyes.

3.       Man C, late 30s, my Pilates instructor. Five of us are in his class, all women, and we are working on the Reformers. He’s talking about how helpful it can be to wear tighter-fitting clothes while doing Pilates, so your limbs don’t get caught in billowy tee-shirts or bulky sweats. He then proceeds to tell us that he was recently teaching a class at another club while wearing tight bike shorts and “For no reason whatsoever, I popped a Woodie.” He actually said this to a group of young women and didn’t for a moment stop to think, “I wonder if this might be offensive or TMI or possibly make them feel even the slightest bit threatened.” My new Pilates friend Kristen and I exchanged horrified glances then went out and drank a flight of wine each to deal with the emotional trauma which had just taken place.

Got any fun crotch stories for me?