About a year ago I found myself in a very compromising position. I was half naked, standing in the changing room at the YMCA, and staring into the horrified face of a man with his four year old daughter. Wait. Where am I? Time stopped. All eyes were on me, and my boobs. I should have been humiliated, but the truth is, I just didn’t have the energy.
I can remember a time when the idea of a unisex bathroom or changing room would have seemed scandalous. Boys and girls couldn’t be naked without a wall between them at least six inches thick. Preferably more. The boys changing room was a mystery to us girls, and one we weren’t particularly interested in investigating. Who knew what sort of shenanigans they got up to in there? We shuddered at the thought. . . . CONTINUE READING