Faustus and I went to the gym together two mornings this past week. I would say that we worked out together, but we did not: I use the free weights, and he is afraid of the free weights. But we did end up across from each other on elliptical trainers, where we made eye contact a few times.
We have studiously avoided seeing each other naked in the locker room.
Last night, before he left on his ski trip, we went together to the Apple Store in SoHo. (Readers of my own blog know that I consider the Apple Store a shining mecca of truth, beauty, and sensibility, and god knows the world can use more of that.) We then went someplace called the Café Borgia II, where I paid almost ten dollars for a tea bag and a slice of dry apple pie, and Faustus had a hot lemonade, which he claims tasted worse than Thera-Flu, even after he dumped a ton of sugar into it. I informed him that refined sugar is a poison, but he pointed out that someplace called “Borgia” is an appropriate setting for being poisoned. The café was so ugly on the inside (its décor had probably not changed since it was established in 1975) that we spent part of the time discussing how Hildi would improve it.
Then I came home and watched “Battlestar Galactica.”