I never linked to this blog from my own because Faustus’s entries tend to be a tad bit more, shall we say, risqué than mine, and my mother reads my blog. I know, I know . . . what kind of nutjob starts a journal of his activities and lets his mother read it? This is the sort of thing I will have to bring up in therapy, but for now, suffice it to say that I do not want have to explain to my mother why, among other things, my very dear friend got in trouble with his not-boyfriend for having someone else’s bite marks on his ass.
So it occurs to me that I can use some of my time in this space to talk about things that I would not like my mother to know.
Today, for example, as I went into the locker room after working out at the gym, a man in there gave me a funny look. He, himself, was almost dressed, and I still had to strip out of my workout clothes, go into the steam room for a few minutes, and then take a shower (the first step of which he watched with avid eyes). When I returned to my locker ten minutes later, he was still there. I have no idea how he contrived to delay his progress for that long, but I pretended not to see him or the notice he was paying me. When I was ready, I grabbed my things and breezed out of the room, up the stairs, and into the lobby with him on my heels. Only when I greeted my waiting female friend with a great hug did he veer off . . . although not without one last, lingering look.
I will not pretend that all of this did not thrill me to no end. I have a boyfriend, and the gentleman in question was so not my type, but my shaky confidence in my physical appearance was certainly augmented a notch or two by having someone select me out of a room full of handsome gym gods and go through such obvious lengths in pursuit.
I think I will keep going to that gym because I am obviously doing something right.
Anyway, enough about me. Maybe I will hand the forum over to Goblin again next time. She knows some card tricks.