Dear Diary… Can’t wait to tell you of my latest crush

My secrets revealed,
As the pen scratches across
The lined, smooth paper

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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

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