A year and a half in, my trainer and I are, if not exactly friends, at least buddies. And, as buddies do, we tell secrets! Like how after the end of his three-month marriage, he was really bad about sleeping around. “Even my buddies who are dogs were telling me I needed to stop,” he said. As someone who has been around the block once or thrice, I had to ask how we were defining “bad.”
“I was sleeping with three to four girls a day,” he said.
“Yeah. One in the morning, then one early afternoon, then one after work, then one at night.”
“Didn’t you have a job?”
“Yeah, but we just went to the backroom.”
This was almost as riveting as the time he told me he met a woman on Tinder who kept trying to convince him to drive three hours to her house. After he refused, she said, “OK, well, my husband and I are driving down to Florida and we’ll stop in NYC. Can we meet then?”
“What did she do, leave her husband in the car?” I asked.
“No,” he said nonchalantly. “He came up, too.”
And because I was so taken aback and because at this point I am just an aged refugee from The Boys in the Band, all I managed to say was , “Well smell you, Nancy Drew!”