So last week, my trainer, Manny, took it upon himself to play Yente.  Actually - he swears he had nothing to do with it and that he simply replied when a man at the gym, who we'll call Joe, inquired as to my status.  Apparently Joe had admired me a la distance and wanted the scoop. And Manny gave it to him i.e. "She's single dude!"

So Manny tells me last week that Joe thinks I'm cute (Oh God - how 6th Grade) and asks me what do I think about him. And I admit that I think Joe is attractive and in very good shape but he's also short - like under 5'6" short and OH YEAH I DON'T WANT TO DATE THANK YOU VERY MUCH. Let alone some guy I see at the gym on a regular basis because Holy Hell - if it doesn't work out, doesn't that make for AWKWARD ALL THE TIME??

Nonetheless, when I went in for my session on Friday Manny tells me that Joe is going to come to the gym special on Saturday to see me and ask me out on a boat ride on the Lake. Hold me.

So Saturday came and the worst feeling in the world is PIMMALing (Puking In My Mouth a Little - thank you AndreAnna for teaching me that acronym!) before you go to work out because nausea and sweat simply do not mix. Also? I was maybe kinda sorta being asked out on a date, which meant that I may have actually given some minor consideration to what I was wearing and I may have actually brushed my hair. TO WORK OUT. That's just WRONG WRONG WRONG WRONG on so many levels I can't even begin.

Long story long? Joe did not show and I got in a kick ass work out.

Fast forward to Tuesday. I had a 6pm session with Manny and once again, I pulled into the parking lot and PIMMALed because Christ on a cracker (another shout out to AndreAnna and her offspring for totally influencing my vernacular) I just want to work out and I don't want to be worrying about being asked out on a date by a total stranger while I am, I don't know, dripping with sweat.  He shouldn't see me dripping with sweat until at least the 3rd date - right? Do those rules still apply?

So.....Joe was there. And I have to give the guy credit - as soon as Manny and I headed towards the weight area where he was working out he completely said something to me even though I was totally staring at my sneakers/the ground because Eye Contact! Awkward! Anyways - Joe made a polite comment about something and I made a polite comment back and then Manny and I moved on down the way and continued with my work out.

I got cornered on the incline bench. While I was lying on my back, feet elevated above my head - practically upside down, slightly dizzy from all of the blood rushing to my brain, my feet looped in between those roller thingies. I got cornered.

Once again, I have to give Joe credit. He came up. Started talking. Knew my name. Commented on the fact that I clearly wasn't from around here (lack of a Southern accent y'all). And then asked me if I was interested in going out on a pontoon boat on Lake Norman with him and a group of his friends. Really. He wasted no time.

I politely asked him what day this boat ride was scheduled for and do you know what he said? I don't know. So right. I got asked out on date kinda sorta maybe and yet...there is no actual date for this date. At this point Manny shooed Joe away so we could finish my workout and then Manny got all teary and said his baby was growing up before his eyes. Then I accidentally dropped a 25lb weight on his foot.  

Joe hung around and waited until I finished my workout and then caught up with me on the way out and we started making small talk which OMG y'all - AWK-WARD - because I kid you not - I got his ENTIRE LIFE STORY in 180 very painful seconds. Seriously - I know as much about him - and possibly more - as if we'd become friends on Facebook. And while I am fairly certain that this may have been the first time he's asked a woman out since separating from his wife (Oh yes - got that ENTIRE story including WHY they were getting divorced so pretty much your basic overshare), the main thing I detest about online dating is knowing so much, so fast. Seriously. You start reading what people like or don't like to do/eat/watch etc. and you can start checking off the things that don't work. For example: his idea of a perfect first date is getting messy while eating crabs? Well I don't like crabs so...next.  He likes to ski? Last time I went skiing I got stranded in the Alps somewhere between Switzerland and Italy and that pretty much traumatized me and I will never ski again. True story y'all. Next. You get the point.

OOOOHHHH. And wait. There's more.

We're talking about a date on a boat people. A boat. That is a problem unless it's the QE2 and there are at least 2 bathrooms on board. I can't pee in a lake. No really. It takes to much effort and is too psychologically damaging. I require porcelain under my ass. Plain and simple. Also? I prefer the toilet paper with lotion in it thank you very much. Anyways - if we are talking several hours on a pontoon boat I basically can't drink ANYTHING at all during the date let alone during the 24 hour period preceding it. So yeah. Minor problem. 

I suspect it's not going to work mainly because my life is not my own until some time in late May i.e. every single day is pretty much spoken for and involves me either packing, unpacking, repacking, driving ridiculously far, looking for parking at the airport, paying for parking at the airport, driving home from the airport, driving BACK to the airport less than 12 hours later, throwing a party, attending a wedding, doing laundry, and/or watching Talladega. See? Not a lot of time for pontoon boat rides.

Still. I will say...I have to give Joe credit for being so forthright and it's totally flattering to be asked out after a zillion years. Especially if you think that this man has never actually seen me looking pretty. The version of me he sees is usually red-faced, sweaty, and in a ponytail. Just imagine if he got to see me in a dress. With some lipgloss on.

Also? If it gets overly awkward I am going to be so fucking pissed because I've been working with Manny for going on 8 months and I adore him and I don't want to have to join The Y.