Dear Diary,
Mark Twain once wrote, "I can live 2 months on a good compliment." In my opinion truer words were never spoken!
I was feeling particularly confident the other day as I walked into the gym wearing my sleek track pants and a snowboarding sweatshirt, toting my serious water bottle (none of those toss-away Evian bottles for me, thank you) and my mystery book as I made a beeline for the elliptical machine. As I stepped closer to the machine, a pair of cute eyes in an even cuter face caught my gaze and held, and the man's face lit up as I approached.
I had to stop myself from pointing to my chest and saying, "Who, me?" which I sooo wanted to do. But then, that would be so not hot. So I smiled and stepped onto the machine.
Mr Hot Stuff leaned against the machine, resting his forearms on the top of the display as he smiled at me and said, "Hi! I don't think I've ever seen you here before."
My first thought was, "My God, I'm going to get arrested." (Although, realistically, he had to have been in his twenties.) I was proud that I only had to enter my information into the machine three times as he chatted with me. I did have the wherewithal to recognize that he was wearing a gym-issued shirt and asked him if he was a personal trainer. He seemed surprised and then realized that he wore the logo on his sleeve.
Given that I am in fact married to a Mr. Hottie of my own, I was obligated to slip that fact into the conversation lest I lead him on and/or feel like a total cougar. After a minute or two he stepped away to join his fellow trainers, allowing me to properly enter my stats into the machine, have my workout and sail away on cloud nine.
Now some skeptics may say he was only hustling me to drum up business, but the topic of training never came up, so for the next 2 months I choose to fantasize that my new attitude of hotness directly contributed to the compliment paid me by a Hot Guy.
Affectionately,
Jane
Mark Twain once wrote, "I can live 2 months on a good compliment." In my opinion truer words were never spoken!
I was feeling particularly confident the other day as I walked into the gym wearing my sleek track pants and a snowboarding sweatshirt, toting my serious water bottle (none of those toss-away Evian bottles for me, thank you) and my mystery book as I made a beeline for the elliptical machine. As I stepped closer to the machine, a pair of cute eyes in an even cuter face caught my gaze and held, and the man's face lit up as I approached.
I had to stop myself from pointing to my chest and saying, "Who, me?" which I sooo wanted to do. But then, that would be so not hot. So I smiled and stepped onto the machine.
Mr Hot Stuff leaned against the machine, resting his forearms on the top of the display as he smiled at me and said, "Hi! I don't think I've ever seen you here before."
My first thought was, "My God, I'm going to get arrested." (Although, realistically, he had to have been in his twenties.) I was proud that I only had to enter my information into the machine three times as he chatted with me. I did have the wherewithal to recognize that he was wearing a gym-issued shirt and asked him if he was a personal trainer. He seemed surprised and then realized that he wore the logo on his sleeve.
Given that I am in fact married to a Mr. Hottie of my own, I was obligated to slip that fact into the conversation lest I lead him on and/or feel like a total cougar. After a minute or two he stepped away to join his fellow trainers, allowing me to properly enter my stats into the machine, have my workout and sail away on cloud nine.
Now some skeptics may say he was only hustling me to drum up business, but the topic of training never came up, so for the next 2 months I choose to fantasize that my new attitude of hotness directly contributed to the compliment paid me by a Hot Guy.
Affectionately,
Jane
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