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Jul. 27th, 2004 12:12 pmApparently I'm way too trusting and willing to believe the best of people when I'm in that spacey flush of immediate-post-yoga.
I swear when I agreed to have coffee with the guy I honestly believed that he wanted to talk about yoga. He was having some kind of conversation with the people at the protein-shake-stand just outside my gym, and asked me questions about yoga when I walked past; I assumed he was a member of the gym who was thinking about attending the class. I kept walking and he came along with me and we continued talking as I walked into Fred Meyer to buy my usual post-gym quasi-discordian breakfast. (*)
I agreed to have coffee so we could continue the conversation -- and I was too worn out to walk home yet anyway -- but we were halfway to the coffee shop (two blocks away from the gym) when I discovered that what was really going on was that he believed in love at first sight. Apparently my endorphined out post-yoga bliss is attractive.
I extricated myself as gently as I could -- which took far too long for my comfort -- and suggested that I was going to walk away and he should please walk the other way. But just in case, if I turn up dead or missing in the near future (especially if it's immediately after the gym), look for a self-identified irish construction worker named Mark who says he lives in an apartment building on Belmont st. in the Capitol Hill neighborhood.
(*) veggie dog, cold, straight from the package, no bun. It's been my emergency protein source for as long as I can remember (though it was meat hot dogs, when I was still eating meat). My mom says I preferred them that way as a toddler and never grew out of it.
I swear when I agreed to have coffee with the guy I honestly believed that he wanted to talk about yoga. He was having some kind of conversation with the people at the protein-shake-stand just outside my gym, and asked me questions about yoga when I walked past; I assumed he was a member of the gym who was thinking about attending the class. I kept walking and he came along with me and we continued talking as I walked into Fred Meyer to buy my usual post-gym quasi-discordian breakfast. (*)
I agreed to have coffee so we could continue the conversation -- and I was too worn out to walk home yet anyway -- but we were halfway to the coffee shop (two blocks away from the gym) when I discovered that what was really going on was that he believed in love at first sight. Apparently my endorphined out post-yoga bliss is attractive.
I extricated myself as gently as I could -- which took far too long for my comfort -- and suggested that I was going to walk away and he should please walk the other way. But just in case, if I turn up dead or missing in the near future (especially if it's immediately after the gym), look for a self-identified irish construction worker named Mark who says he lives in an apartment building on Belmont st. in the Capitol Hill neighborhood.
(*) veggie dog, cold, straight from the package, no bun. It's been my emergency protein source for as long as I can remember (though it was meat hot dogs, when I was still eating meat). My mom says I preferred them that way as a toddler and never grew out of it.
