sometimes even a city can feel small.
although, even though i technically live in a city, it’s more like a small town america kind of city. let’s put it this way, the gym where i belong is considered “the best gym” in town. but they don’t really have any classes beyond yoga and step, there’s only one classroom, on hot days like today the a/c couldn’t keep up with the sweaty bodies, and they don’t provide towels to use in their nasty-ass showers. in a real city, this wouldn’t even rank in the top 100.
so tonight, at this ‘best’ gym in this ‘city’ while i was peddling in place, i spotted Single Dad. ( for those of you who need a refresher, read my original post here.) i pretended not to recognize him. in fact, i pretended so hard that i decided it couldn’t be him. besides, if it was him, i might cry. i might cry because it turns out, i can’t handle the thought of handling another man right now. i would like to wish that i want to flirt and date and such. but i don’t. okay, well, maybe i’ll flirt, but only if there’s an absolute guarantee that i don’t need to know your name and i’ll never see you again.
so, i continued peddling and hoped he’d leave. instead, he stood about 15 feet away, talking to a buddy. i deftly avoided eye contact and continued to pretend it wasn’t him.
on to the mat for stretching. i had that sinking feeling that someone was looking at me. i chalked it up to the fact that i was in a gym and everyone looks at everyone in a gym. but i glanced in the direction of the feeling any way. Single Dad. at the water fountain. crap. “it’s not hi. it’s not him. it’s not him. it’s not him.”
off to the next machine. he walked by and made eye contact. the only way to avoid him would have been to cross the street, but i wasn’t on a street, and i was being cornered by a nautilus machine anyways.
are you ready for it? what follows is the absolute horror of a bland conversation, as close to word for word as i can remember.
him: “hi”
me: “oh, hi. i don’t remember your name.” (this is the line that means: ‘i forgot it because you weren’t a memorable person.’)
him: mumble
me: “how are you?” (shake hands to avoid the fact that i still didn’t catch the name. still a wimpy shake for those of you who care.)
him: “tough week.”
me: “i’m sorry. i’m sure the heat hasn’t helped.”
him. “yeah. you?”
me: “me too.”
him: “oh?”
me: “yeah. you know. the heat.”
him: “where’s your cutie?” (or maybe he said ‘little one.’ i have no idea, because he mumbled it and indicated what he was mumbling by holding his hand out flat in front of him at about the head height of my daughter.)
me: “with her dad.”
him: “are you still together?” (how’s that for a blunt question?)
me: “no. just separated.” (as in, GO AWAY i’m in emotional distress and for all you know, it could be a very temporary separation so i’m not the kind of girl you should try to hang out with)
him: “oh. it’s hard at first. when you first come home and don’t get to see the little smiling face.” (okay, okay, now i feel a little sorry for you, ya big lug.)
me: “well, she lives with me. so, i guess i got the better end of the deal.” (maybe, if i’m a little mean, he’ll get a clue.)
him: “well, sometimes you need a break.” (wait a second, no you don’t. he doesn’t live with you. you just wish you needed a break from him. what a lousy attempt to keep this lousy conversation going.)
me: “yeah. i certainly didn’t feel bad leaving her tonight.”
him: “funny to see you here.”
me: “yeah.”
him: (okay, you’re thoroughly bored i imagine so i won’t make you suffer. it lasted one more topic about him telling me about his vacation next week. as if i cared. then i beat it over to the stair-master.)
i did not manage to make it out without another run in. we both headed for the locker rooms at the same time. i have no idea if it was coincidence or planned. he made one pathetic attempt to invite me out. “you’re going home already?” what are you in high school?
and now, every time i walk in the gym door, i will have to face the likelihood of running into Single Dad.
a pox on you Fates.
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