The most fabulous thing happened yesterday. I simply couldn't wait to get into work so that I could tell you guys. So much so that I even came in early (and I'm really not a morning person! Anyone talks to me before 8:30 and I respond with an acrimonious grunt). But in order to fully understand the sheer drollery of this post, you need to (if you haven't already) have read my last post Awkward Moment. So do that quickly, and we'll wait for you...
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Right. Let's hop to it.
So yesterday after an extremely strenuous, laborious workout, I descended the gymnasium stairs, face aglow with perspiration, hair plastered to the back of my neck, provocative under-boob sweat patches, and I gripped the banister for balance as my knees were remarkably shaky after said taxing workout. As I reached the bottom of the staircase and started towards the exit, who else should emerge from the rotating doors but Beanie (!!) – sporting an unattractive plum-coloured wife-beater and far-too-short nut-hugger shorts – and he walked (invisible pineapples under his pits) in my direction. He's still wearing it?! I thought to myself. What could he possibly be keeping under there? His car keys? Leftovers from lunch?!
We made eye contact. I smiled lovingly at the man who offered me everything, and was about to run into his arms shouting, 'Beanie! It's you!', when his eyes moved away from mine and he carried on walking straight ahead. What?!?! How could Beanie not recognise me – this vision of sweat in hot spandex gym kit? I stood still as he walked past, contemplating tapping him on his naked shoulder and confessing, 'Beanie, it's me! I proposed to you, remember? You're pimping out my bachelor pad, remember? You're buying me a zimmer frame, remember??!?!?!'
As he brushed past me I turned to watch my beloved Beanie walk away. And suddenly... he did the unexpected. He slowly reached up... grabbed his beanie, and pulled it off!!! I stared in awe at the mutant before me. My dreams of soft, flowing chocolate-brown hair to match those emerald green eyes were shattered. I had to shield my eyes quickly from the gym lights reflecting off a very large, very round and very shiny, polished egg top before me. Bald? BALD?!
'YOU'RE BALD?' Shit... I'd said that out loud.
He turned around, 'What?'
'Er, cold!!! Brrrrrr. I'm so cold!' I said spinning around (just in time to hide my face), and I slipped a hoodie over my head and ran out the gym door, leaving my bald, wife-beatered landlord standing dazed and confused behind me...
Moral of the story: never propose to a guy in a hat, beanie, sambrero, balaclava, panama, yarmulke (could be hiding a bald patch), or a fedora (trying too hard). You never know what they're hiding under there...
…
…
Right. Let's hop to it.
So yesterday after an extremely strenuous, laborious workout, I descended the gymnasium stairs, face aglow with perspiration, hair plastered to the back of my neck, provocative under-boob sweat patches, and I gripped the banister for balance as my knees were remarkably shaky after said taxing workout. As I reached the bottom of the staircase and started towards the exit, who else should emerge from the rotating doors but Beanie (!!) – sporting an unattractive plum-coloured wife-beater and far-too-short nut-hugger shorts – and he walked (invisible pineapples under his pits) in my direction. He's still wearing it?! I thought to myself. What could he possibly be keeping under there? His car keys? Leftovers from lunch?!
We made eye contact. I smiled lovingly at the man who offered me everything, and was about to run into his arms shouting, 'Beanie! It's you!', when his eyes moved away from mine and he carried on walking straight ahead. What?!?! How could Beanie not recognise me – this vision of sweat in hot spandex gym kit? I stood still as he walked past, contemplating tapping him on his naked shoulder and confessing, 'Beanie, it's me! I proposed to you, remember? You're pimping out my bachelor pad, remember? You're buying me a zimmer frame, remember??!?!?!'
As he brushed past me I turned to watch my beloved Beanie walk away. And suddenly... he did the unexpected. He slowly reached up... grabbed his beanie, and pulled it off!!! I stared in awe at the mutant before me. My dreams of soft, flowing chocolate-brown hair to match those emerald green eyes were shattered. I had to shield my eyes quickly from the gym lights reflecting off a very large, very round and very shiny, polished egg top before me. Bald? BALD?!
'YOU'RE BALD?' Shit... I'd said that out loud.
He turned around, 'What?'
'Er, cold!!! Brrrrrr. I'm so cold!' I said spinning around (just in time to hide my face), and I slipped a hoodie over my head and ran out the gym door, leaving my bald, wife-beatered landlord standing dazed and confused behind me...
Moral of the story: never propose to a guy in a hat, beanie, sambrero, balaclava, panama, yarmulke (could be hiding a bald patch), or a fedora (trying too hard). You never know what they're hiding under there...
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