My secrets revealed,
As the pen scratches across
The lined, smooth paper
———————————————
Dear Diary,
I know it’s been a while since I wrote anything. Typical. But I had to tell you about this new man in my life. After Bathrobe Man, I wasn’t sure I was ever going to have a commute crush again (the word crush is so appropriate, right?!). But there is a new guy. I call him Running Boy.
Truth be told, I’ve known him a while. I guess about 9 months ago I spotted him — he was running, obviously… But he was so different from the others I had seen dolefully completing their morning routines.
Let me explain. He doesn’t look like a runner. The shorts to the knees seem amazingly confining, but he never seems to mind. The baseball cap — always red — is ever present. But there are three things about him that really caught my eye then and continue now.
His mustache – dark brown, thick, fully covering the lip-nose gap. I haven’t seen one that bountiful since Magnum PI. And no little go-tee attached to it – he is all about the stache and lets it stand on its own. I admire that about him. I wish he would remove the ball cap, because I’m convinced it is holding back a full head of thick, curly hair that even now I can imagine running my hands through.
Not to be outdone by his facial hair is his leg hair. He is a little on the pale side, so even at 40 mph, I can see the thick hair covering his legs. I miss hairy men. I’m not looking for Big Foot, but those Ambercrombie and Fitch teenagers models, with their smooth chests, do absolutely nothing for me. A real man needs hair on his chest, a little on his back… and some on the shoulders to add to the overall manliness of the landscape. It takes a real woman to tame a man with ample body hair. Running boy… you can tell he is a real man.
Lastly, it’s his run. He runs like an 8 year old boy. High on his toes, he flies down the sidewalk, his heels never touching ground. No mamby-pamby jogging, he is running, full tilt, balls of his feet bearing the brunt. Honestly, the first time I saw him I was convinced he was running away from someone. I imagined he had stayed the night with his girlfriend — a married woman in her mid 40′s let’s just say — and had quickly darted out the backdoor for some unexplained reason and needed to return home quickly. That was the only way I could explain the overly long shorts and ball cap — and that unpracticed gait — the first time I set eyes on him. But when I saw him a few days later, and then kept seeing him time and time again… well I decided he was just a rebel, a man who wanted health no matter what the ridicule.
So, Diary, here I am — still pining some for Bathrobe Man — who by the way hasn’t had the guts to show his face again — but finding that the fog is lifting the more time I spend with Running Boy. I’m not going to do anything about it just yet… perhaps start driving just a wee bit slower in case he might notice me. Or maybe I’ll find a reason to stop at the Pony Keg first thing in the morning before his journey takes him by there… just to see if I can catch his eye with a smile. It’s worth a try…
Yours,
Maureen
, 
…). Alternatively, b) happens: . Huh, I think to myself. Nothing. No typing. No good-bye. Just silence. This can be cool if numbers 1-6 are on-line. But this is usually someone I actually like. So I start to worry a little. Perhaps I send a pathetic little “you okay? I’m signing off now… take care” all the while wondering whether she’s been electrocuted, kidnapped or just had one of her moments and has no clue we were talking. Usually about 30 minutes later, if I am still on-line, she’ll jump on with a “had to finish dinner” or “the doorbell rang” but mostly it just ends and I’m left to wonder her fate until next time.
