Maybe it is because I've always been, shall we say, "less than healthy," meaning I eat fast food when and where I want - that I don't fundamentally understand the exercise freak types that COME to a fast-food place and then do the point-and-stare 20 Questions routine with the menu.
I'm not against eating healthy. Kali forbid, I was forced to dramatically curtail my sugar and fat intake this year after being diagnosed with diabetes - but I'm not a psychotic freak at restaurants. Other than being my normal "I WILL NOT EAT THAT IF YOU PAID ME!" self - but that has nothing to do with being healthy. My dislike of rabbit food and raw fish is perfectly normal.
Anyway. I'm recovering from the unpardonable sin of missing what I can only assume was some sort of male hen party (I walk in and there's seven older dudes all standing around waiting for iced coffees flirting with each other). I barely order and get my laptop out and they're gone. Now, I regret the time I spent getting that chicken sandwich.
And then I'm rewarded all the same.
Exercise Monkey rolls in. He is tall and fit and not a day under 50. He might LOOK young, especially because he's as firm as a new mattress, but there is gray in them there temples.
Exercise Monkey is all kitted out in head-to-toe Adidas. Black Adidas running shorts. Crisp white Adidas tee. Adidas sneakers and probably Adidas socks, although I can't see that far. My vision is failing and I'm not even 40. The backpack, for whatever reason, is something else - which I can't make out and I can't find on Google.
He is tall, like six feet, two inches. He is skinny. More lean than heroin chic, but definitely not a porker. And I swear that he shaves his arms. No hair. Anywhere. And then he decides to stand there at the register and play with the drawstring on his shorts to show off his perfectly toned stomach.
All this is happening while he's quizzing the barista - Tall Tina - on the caloric content of the iced teas. Then, not content with knowing the calorie content, we move on to sugar vs. no-sugar vs. low-sugar.
Again, and I've said this before. You're inside a FAST FOOD establishment. Granted, a fast food place that might pretend to all outward appearances to be different than a McDonalds, and serves better food, but it is STILL FAST FOOD. Although the coffee is miles better. And the employees speak English and smile.
So. Shaverboy is doing the 20 Questions routine on the drinks menu - and finally decides on a no-sugar green tea. Really dude. I don't understand WHY you rolled up into a Starbucks in the first place if you're just going to sniff and sniff at the menu? And quit playing with your navel! How much belly-button lint CAN YOU HAVE?
About this time, his little friend comes in. Predictably, a woman. A YOUNG woman. Brunette, surprisingly, not the to-be-expected blonde. She must be 20 years younger, although that puts her at 30-ish - which is old enough to have the beginnings of cottage cheese thighs.
Which I can see QUITE well through her sheer black exercise shorts. Every large inch of her thighs. Things that have been seen cannot be unseen! She's clad in head-to-toe Adidas too - well, if you count an Adidas running top, the type with the shoulder blades left open, as a top. There's a sports bra as well, but that was it, other than socks and, of course, a pair of Adidas running shoes. Makes me wonder if there was a contract or something?
But she gets in and we get a REPEAT of the 20 Questions game - except that she wants a pastry and there's no "fat free" option available to her at 8:30 p.m. at night. And she's clearly upset. Seriously, I am totally on board with your right to have choices - but you're the one with dietary restrictions. Not the Starbucks.
She gets a tall coffee to match his green tea. No sugar, no fun!
They leave, presumably in search of other calorie-resistant couples to run marathons with. What is the point of living past 100 if you're miserable doing it?
0 comments:
Post a Comment