I was curious, although not really interested, about the predisposition of a certain guy at the gym.
I don’t go to one of those gay gyms where everyone gets dressed up to check each other on the ellipticals and “spot” one another. Then write missed connections to each other, lamenting the fact that they didn’t get someone’s name as they walked out of the den-of-sin sauna. I go to a gym that is made up of a) tired-looking bureaucrats, b) men playing raquetball, c) straight people my age who have jobs, d) old men who wander around the locker room naked for hours.
But there are a few proud gays there — enough to keep things interesting.
There was one guy who was a bit older (40?) who had pinged my gaydar before and I was awaiting confirmation. The other night, I got it.
As I ran on the treadmill with my headphones on, I could still hear a little bit of his stairmaster conversation with the woman next to him.
“I started watching Everwood,” he said.
“LOVE IT!” she said.
“I’m starting with season one.”
Case closed.