This past week I have been checked out EVERY time I’ve worked out. Like stared down. At the Gym. At Bootcamp. At Runyon Canyon. Kathy Griffin strolled right past us on that more-social-than-struggle of a mountain, but everyone was looking at me. And I got to say those words I’ve always wanted to say.
Last night a boy gave me his digits. I like to say “digits.” It makes me sound hip. Young. When my niece and nephew lived with me I caught on to all the cool new lingo. When my nephew was moving back here from Italy, I needed his full name for something. I asked him. He said, “I’m on the grid as Christopher.”
Here’s something I’ve never quite grasped. Dressing for the gym. We’ll just get this out of the way right now: the fact that I can even dress myself without being mistaken for a homeless man is remarkable. Though if someone were to throw a dollar into my coffee cup on Larchmont once in a while I wouldn’t complain.