The Journal of Joe The Peacock. Yay.

6.16.2004:

1:07 AM

I was hit on at the gym yesterday.

Now, this isn't really a big deal to most of you. For a lot of you reading this, you're probably used to being the object of someone's forelorn desire. To you, stares and catcalls and pick-up lines are part of a standard day. You shuck and dodge them like you would a low-hanging doorframe or a wayward duck flying wildly toward your head.

But for me, it's kinda a huge deal, cause I look like Shrek.

Anyway, this girl - pretty, about 5' 7", reddish hair and medium build - took up residence on the Crosstraining machine right next to mine. I was burning through a grueling 75 minute set in preparation for the upcoming Balance Bar Adventure Race that we're running for Team In Training. I notice that this girl is periodically looking over at my readout, mentally marking my progress. During the course of our workout, she pulls out some notecards - presumably for a class in college - and begins going through them (on the machine. During a workout. I don't know how you feel, but personally, i feel that if you are able to actually read while working out, you aren't really working out...). Every so often, one would mysteriously drop right underneath the foothold on my machine. I'd stop, allow her to retrieve it, then continue on with my workout.

Now, I can understand little mishaps like this happening during the course of the duration of these events. But 5 seperate times?

After the fifth time, she managed to make eye contact with me. She smiled brightly and was very sweet when she said "... ... . . ....." I couldn't hear a damn thing. I had Helmet - old helmet - blaring through the headphones. SOOOOOOO I stopped, pulled off my headphones, and asked her to please again repeat what she just said. She replied, "I said, 'Hi, my name is [omitted], what's yours?" And she stuck out her right hand.

I responded by reaching with my left hand - which, incidentally, contained on the third finger (yes, the third, the thumb isn't a finger) my big fat shiny wedding ring. I clasped her hand and said "I'm Joe, nice to meet you."

She looked down and directly at my ring, and I could see her bite her bottom lip. She then began talking to me about something, which I summariliy dismissed with a smile as I waved and trotted over to the cycle to get back to work.

Now, this may NOT have been flirting. I dunno. But it's been so long since I've impressed... well, anyone... SO dammit, I'm counting it.

Incidentally, when I told my wife about this, she stopped for a moment, then begain describing the girl.

"Reddish hair?"

check.

"Sort of long face?"

check.

"College age?"

check.

"Was she wearing a sorority t-shirt or something?"

check.

"Oh, yeah! I know that bitch! She's ALWAYS working out right next to Trish and I, trying to outdo us. We kick her ass, though."

I love my wife :)

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