Last Sunday, I went jogging for the first time in over a year. As if Mondays weren’t terrible enough, I was incredibly sore. Though I was moving extremely slowly, I got to work on time.
My coworker Charlie walked into the kitchen as I grabbed my coffee cup from the cabinet. He’s in his sixties but wears a Michael Jordan-style earring and a chain. His kids aren’t much older than me, so he’s more informed about music and technology than most of my coworkers.
“Good morning, Charlie!”
“How was your weekend?”
I waddled to the coffee machine and shifted uncomfortably as my coffee brewed. Charlie gave me a knowing look.
“Mm-hm. Seems like it was.”
“I went jogging!”
“Sure ya did.”
“My legs are dead because I haven’t gone jogging in a year!”
“I ain’t hatin’.”
“At least someone around here is gettin’ some!”
“Jogging isn’t a euphemism for getting laid!”
“No need to be embarrassed! You’ve gotta enjoy your youth!”
“It’s not that, I –”
“Once ya hit menopause, you’ll rarely wanna go jogging with your man!”