“I know what you mean, but then . . . modern times reality,” Kayla says. “What kind of guy are you looking for? I see you with a . . . Ooh, I know, a popular makeup influencer!” She grins teasingly.
I laugh in dismissal. “I’m not really actively looking, but if I were, umm, I’d say a guy who cares about stuff, environment, someone who drinks from a reusable cup,” I muse. “Someone who reads—likes to read, and in general cares about others.”
“Meaning?” It’s Pandora this time.
“You know, someone who’s not on some crusade to inflate his ego work-wise, through a relationship, etc. Someone who does things as a passion, not as a goal. Color me naïve, but all I want is a decent human.”
“Preach, sister,” Pandora chirps.
“Someone who looks at others through a prism of kindness. I guess—in the grand scheme of things—someone who gives a shit,” I say, shrugging.
My sister spreads her arms. “Someone who gives a shit. How poetic!” she declares. Vic shakes her head at me with a consolation smile. “Oh, hon.” She pats my hand. “Didn’t you hear that rare species was extinct back when sending your object of affection genitalia pics became a thing?”
“Glad to know romance is still dead,” I murmur then shrug again and tie my blond strands in a bun. “Who has time to date, anyway. Definitely not me. Too much going on in my life to include someone new.”
Kayla takes a swing from her water bottle. “Well, I found that guy. One of the good ones, but he never really saw me, not in that sense, I mean.”
I watch Kayla somewhat startled. I feel like it’s the first time I get to see her walls come down a little. When I open my mouth to address her comment, she winks at me and shakes her head, communicating, nuh-uh, no need to get all excited, we’re not delving into that. She grabs her drumsticks. “We’re up next, catch you guys later.” And she’s gone, en route to join her band members on the little stage.
“Good luck and Godspeed,” Pandora waves a hand at Kayla’s departing back.
A few hours later and a couple of drinks too many in my system, with my face cleansed and moisturized, a cropped sweatshirt and pajama shorts, I climb into bed and drop my head on the pillow. I already know just how much I’ll regret the extra drinks tomorrow morning when I have to be all energetic and swaying for my 80’s throwback aerobics class.
As I send my hand to switch the light off, a certain correspondence from earlier resurfaces in my mind. I grab my phone from the nightstand and reread what I wrote.
Hi Liam,
Nice to meet you, too.
Thanks for promptly rectifying your email etiquettes lapse. 2 points for good behavior! Thinking about it, quoting J. R. R. Tolkien might have absolved you from that little misdemeanor and any future email transgressions for that matter.
And yes, I’m not Little Shit, not sure if it’s a disappointment to you or not, but I’m not. Speaking of Little Shit, where is he off to anyway?
Night,
Anna
“It’s never too late to master your weaknesses.”
PS. Since motivational quotes are . . . motiving.
I do something a bit disturbing then. I’m glad there’s no one around to judge me. I load up the picture from the original email and have a closer look at the guys, trying to guess which one is Liam. I mock myself right after for the silly fascination and set the phone back on the table, more than ready to call it a night.
Neon Legwarmers and a Whole Lot of Hygge
Kayla to CHICKENS: This monthly challenge is ruining my reputation. People are starting to question my mental stability.
Pandora to CHICKENS: Oh, drummergirl, we all know that deep, deep, like underneath all the drummer badassery you’re nothing but a little cuddly kitten.
Kayla to CHICKENS: Maybe I should resort to the usage of emojis after all. Just wondering, is there a middle finger one?
Anna to CHICKENS: Drunken Fishing? #curiousmindsinquiring
Kayla to CHICKENS: The hell is Drunken Fishing?
Anna to CHICKENS: A thing we do, you’ll love it. It involves alcohol and fishing.
Kayla to CHICKENS: You had me at alcohol, Nielsen.
“Are you ready?” I call out with a bright smile, ignoring the raging morning-after-drinks thudding inside my head. “Okay, then, step forward, step backward. Knees high, let’s go.” After about five minutes of light cardio, I move on to the fun part. “Stretch, stretch, pull,” I call out with enthusiasm and clap. I grin at the eighteen ladies and two guys that follow my every move. I clap again and declare, “Grapevine!” And the entire group steps forward with the right foot, then steps forward with the left foot.
It is a sight to behold.
Never gets old.
The moving mass as per the class’s theme is adorned in eighties style attire. It’s a spectacle of colorful neon legwarmers, hairbands and leotard overkill . Eye of the Tiger plays in the background as the class follows my Jane Fonda moves with utter zeal. “Now to the side, you got this people.”
When It’s Raining Men comes on next, I step it up a notch. “Get ready to Charleston!” I yell over the music, and they Charleston it like it’s their job. Sweaty faces regard me with happy smiles.
“Great job everyone,” I conclude the lesson forty-five minutes later. “If you’re staying for yoga, we’ll start in ten in the grey studio.” As always, I have a few clients come over to thank me. This class is usually booked weeks in advance with a prominent waiting list. And the best part, I love it! I’m having such fun teaching it. My besties get a free pass if there are very last moment cancellations.
One of the clients, a successful businesswoman, once suggested that I do online classes, get followers, and “put myself out there” as she put it. “I have a hunch—you’re going to be a hit,” she said. I might consider doing that sometime in the future. Blissfully so, I have enough on my plate at the moment as it is. What with the thirty-plus classes a week I teach, my online presence is a platform aimed at promoting a healthy lifestyle through nutrition, lifestyle, and fitness. Not to mention, my constant education and private research on the link between food and health. If you get me started on the gut and mind connection, I guess I’ll go on for days. It was Hippocrates who said, “Let food be thy medicine and medicine be thy food.” I’m the greatest supporter of this theory.
The grey studio is already set up for the Vinyasa Yoga lesson. I just light up a couple of candles and switch on the diffuser then run to the office to change into yoga gear. Just before taking a couple of breaths to calm down, I check my phone. An involuntary smile takes over my lips when I notice a new email from Liam. Who is this person? I murmur to myself when I notice the message’s timestamp. 4:32 a.m.
Good morning Anna,
Hold up, am I chatting to a fellow Tolkien fan? Now, even though Little Shit is a pretty cool guy I’m glad you’re not Little Shit. Between you and me, I don’t think he’s ever read Tolkien. For shame!