I was all set to write a post about how in the morning I have my certification test to become an aerobics instructor (or, as this man would properly insist, a group fitness instructor), but my ability to think clearly seems to have deserted me utterly in the face of the burning question towards which I am bending all of my energy:
Who is Faustus, Jr.?
Someone using that moniker has now twice left comments for me. I’m trying to figure out if this attempt actually succeeded somehow, and produced a child capable of dashing off witty and urbane epigraphs at age two, or if this is some sort of Patricia Highsmith Boy Who Followed Ripley thing, in which case perhaps I ought to be slightly concerned.
In any case, let’s just hope my mind can wrench itself away from this confounding conundrum enough to pass the test tomorrow. Of course, assuming that all the other people taking the test will also be cute gay men, my mind will have to wrench itself away from more than this confounding conundrum if it is to focus on the test.
At the same time, the practice test, which I took yesterday and passed, contains questions like the following:
“Which of the following is NOT a probable cause of common injuries associated with group exercise classes?
A. Inferior choreography
B. Proper instruction
C. Poor body mechanics
D. Muscle asymmetry”
So I’m probably okay either way.
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