He calls to me within three steps of entering the yoga studio. His voice carries throughout. His class is beginning, mine has just ended. We embrace – a comingling of my perspiration and his aridity.
Him: Wow, your hair. Betty Page?
Me: Yeah, Betty Page. (really Louise Brooks, but what does he know)
Him: Do you want to live the Betty Page lifestyle?
Me: (absentmindedly) I already do.
Him: Really, wow, we haven’t talked lately. I didn’t know that about you.
I feel his married wolf-eyes watching me as I move to the side of the room, pulling a periwinkle-blue tee shirt over my sweaty yoga halter and wrapping myself in my scarf. I move towards the door. I don’t look up.
My best friend (male) was running on a machine at the gym, and a mid 50s man stood outside the gym and stared at him through the floor to ceiling windows for a few moments. Then the guy waved, gave the window a big cowlick, and walked off.
My friend initially waved at the guy thinking it was someone he possibly had met before, but after the big window lick he felt violated somehow.
“friend”, sure. We know it was really you. That story is hilarious – I’ve never had anyone lick a window for me. Not sure that I’d want them to…