As I'm trying to be good, and my current holidays allow it, I'm back at the gym once more. I saw Salsa today at the gym. As usual she danced around and did her dream-like thing. At one point she danced up to me as I took a breather between sets and high-fived me. Oh God, I'm being high-fived in the gym. I'm so not that guy. Nor am I the guy that drinks protein shakes, which really smell quite foul I might add. They have this unnatural smell that lies someone between medicine and obsession. I sometimes think I am the only guy that goes to that gym that is not drinking protein shakes or steroid juice.
In case it appears that I'm some kind of gym junkie - Im not. Far from it. I mostly go to the gym to work off hangovers and guilt over my relentless lifestyle and often have a cigarette as soon as I get out. Yeah, real healthy.
Salsa actually called me last Saturday afternoon under the pretense of finding out some more info about what kind of apartment I was looking for. Conversation meandered and she's charged me with the task of finding a nice white guy in his 50s. Yes, I'm Sox the Matchmaker now. I told her that I didn't know many men in their 50s and certainly none that I would introduce to a lonely divorcee. Most of the men I know in their 50s here are right prats who would have trouble providing the usual stability of a relationship outside of cashflow. I did ask Salsa about her dancing, which she is happy to talk about at length. At one point she said that "the music is in me" and that she often cooks with the gas on low so she can dance at the same time. Yes, this verges on weirdness but it's also kind of intriguing in the sense that I genuinely believe the universe does actually sing to her and she has little choice but to follow the tune.
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