More specifically the comments. Reading it has triggered a long distant memory of a time when Little Mishelle and I used to go jogging every morning a couple of summers ago. I remember it clearly. We were young and spritely back then with an urge to "get healthy."
We always used to see this one guy running beside the Catholic primary school near our old high school. He was a bit past middle aged, had a close-cut haircut and usually wore grey/black running clothes. We used to say good morning to people back then. I'm not sure if I would still say good morning now because I get lazier and lazier with each passing day.
For the most part, people would say hello back, usually accompanied by a smile. But this guy never would. I would say, "Good morning!" all cheery like and he would look straight through me/us. We tried and tried each morning to facilitate some friendly exchange. More peppy with each try. We threw on our best smiles, our friendliest "Hullo!"s. It never worked.
One morning, we were "running" (I use that term loosely) when we came upon this guy again.
"Good morning!" one of us said. He did not say anything back. We continued running, he continued running. I looked back after a few seconds.
"Bitch!" I said.
Perhaps less exclaim-y and in a softer tone than our initially salutations. But I had said it nonetheless, revelling in my own badassery. God, I was amazing. It was rebellious, outspoken, brave, RUDE.
Then, after a few milliseconds, the thrill of the act died down. Little Mishelle and I looked at each other and SPRINTED off, terrified that this guy would come after us and hunt us down. He kind of looked like the type (I would describe him as ex-military if this was an episode of NCIS) and obviously was on some kind of strict exercise program or training for a marathon or something ridiculous like that.
That sprint was probably the most strenuous exercise we ever got during those 1.75 months in the summer of 2010/11.
J
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