On Short Term Memory ...Err... Thingy

I've joined the gym.

I've paid out forty of your Earth pounds for the privelege of using torture equipment so that - one day - I won't be a fat bastard.

For those of you with a gym contract, that's forty quid for the year. The. Year.

My gym is the work place gym, and my place of work is excellent.

So, I'm still keen, and only just getting to grips how dull twenty minutes on an exercise bike can be.

However, this is not the point of this post. Oh no, it is about short-term memory loss, for one of my trips to the gym resulted in this: woe.

Twenty minutes on the bike. Half a mile on the rowing machine, some half-hearted posing with the weights and I was done.

Then, showered, dressed, and leave.

I was halfway to the car with my gym kit in my Co-op shopping bag when I got the sneaking feeling that I had forgotten something.

It was only when I  went to put my hand in my pocket for my keys that I realised what it was.

For there was no pocket.

Trousers.

I was in public, in my place of work, sans pantaloons. Shoes, but no trousers.

NO TROUSERS.

Then I didn't wake up and my pillow wasn't gone BECAUSE IT WAS ACTUALLY REAL.

The end.