I hate the gym. Squeezing a workout into the day is a challenge. I have just 30 minutes after work allotted to the treadmill before having to pick up MP. Preschool closes at six.
If I don’t leave the office at exactly 5 p.m. or a few minutes before, I’ve blown it. Usually I blow it. Which means I make it to the gym on average … once a week. Which is stupidity. The Girl’s Trip is coming up fast. I have two months to get rid of the gut and at this rate, I might as well just stay home.
Today, during my frenzied 30-minute workout, I’m on the treadmill next to an attractive 40ish guy. There’s something a little different about him … I can’t quite put my finger on it …
Until, sweaty and excited, I realize I have come in contact with the highly elusive and low-key small town homosexual.
Rural homo cornholius.
Even in a small town gym, gay guys got game. It just looks a little different. It sounds a little different. And, to the casual observer, probably goes unnoticed.
“Hey Fish & Game Guy …” my neighbor calls with a big smile to a burly guy with a thick, redneckish Fu Man Chu, wearing standard government khakis. “What do you think of the .40 vs. .45 caliber semi-automatic?”
The innuendo is thick.
I squint my eyes and hope for the best. Please no ass-kicking, please no ass-kicking, please no ass-kicking.
To my amazement, Big Fu smiles and comes forward.
And just like that, these two people, who only moments before were complete strangers, found common ground and were engaging in conversation.
Just two gay country guys talkin’ ’bout huntin’. (Had to be code.) I was so busy trying to remember this priceless exchange and NOT pee my pants, I didn’t hear much more. They are, after all, rare birds in this neck of the woods. And I loooves the gays. They always have a way of making me feel like the most beautiful creature in the world.
As for me, the gym is the LAST place I’d ever hope to find a love connection. And I have to admit, it IS a little irritating how EASY they made it look.
Not that I’m looking.