There’s a guy in the park making eyes at me…he’s actually quite nice looking if you could get passed his nose, which I can’t, since he looks like a giant parrot.
I ask myself why he didn’t bob it in his youth, I mean it’s that big and wrecks the rest of him that’s tall, dark, and oh so birdlike.
There’s a morning ritual I’m faithful to. I stretch, then do some exercises I’ve been doing for years on what I call an Olmstead bridge (Fredrick Law Olmstead designed Central Park). I like the sameness of it, find it soothing and comforting. Then I hug Teddy, a huge sycamore tree I’ve named after my favorite president who too had a wide, ample trunk, before taking off round the park.
Polly, I’ll call him, has interrupted this since he too is now stretching, more his hormones than calves, on the bridge of sighs since I so wish he’d go…sigh
He keeps complimenting me, first on my flexibility, then as he put it…my rosy complexion. That’s when I knew what he was up to since my skin is anything but rosy looking more like chalk since I hysterically stay out of the sun.
I’m still polite, say thank you…nice of you, my Connecticut front and center. The last thing I ever want to be perceived as is a bitch in a pair of Nikes.
After Polly thought he had my attention, he began selling his goods.
He’s an investment banker who lives part of the year in France, divorced with two grown children and a collection of vintage Peugeots. He’s a quasi vegetarian who likes swimming, tennis and hiking in the Adirondacks. He doesn’t smoke, drinks only moderately and makes one hell of an omelet.
It was Match.com… LIVE
I couldn’t care less if he was Johnny Weismuller back from the dead with a souffle in his hand. There wasn’t one cell in my body interested in anything he was telling me.
You can’t manufacture chemistry, as my late great friend Jacks used to say.
Then he asked, why do I hug a tree every morning since it’s so ridiculous.
Okay, that’s it…Thingirl snapped.
“What’s it to you…why are you watching me…can’t you see this is my private time?”
Connecticut was suddenly replaced by Bed-Stuy.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I thought you wanted to get to know each other?”
“Why would you even think that?”
“Because you’re here.”
“I’ve been here for 20 years pal…it has nothing to do with you.” Just then Taz, the Golden Retriever, ran up like a cop to see if I was okay, his owner close behind.
Polly abruptly left and I haven’t seen him since.
At my age, I do the picking and that nose would have been a full-time job.
Then Jim, Taz’s father said, “Did you see the beak on that guy?”
“Yes Jim, I certainly did.”