Can't be

It's Monday folks. I don't know anyone who loves Mondays. Not one person. Have you ever heard someone say, "Boy oh boy, it's Monday. I sure do love me some Mondays." No, you haven't. Because no one loves them. Unless they are holiday Mondays and you don't have to go to work or do anything in your normal weekly routine...then you might like that Monday, but love is a stretch. I might love this Monday. Maybe.

It's been established that I am not a fan of waking up early. I do it because I have to, but be assured I do not do it with a smile. Mondays are a little bit worse because it starts my workout week all over. Two days of sleeping past 5:15 a.m. and then Monday comes and smacks me in the face. Ruthless bitch.

Today started off like any other and I went to the gym. The place was kind of empty...I guess Mondays don't sit well with most people. I hopped on the elliptical and decided to just do it. Not the perfect picture of a Nike ad, but I managed to not dread it so much this time. I let my mind wander and thought back to last Wednesday when Mr. Chestnut glided in to my small town facility. Man, that was pretty cool. Even though you didn't talk to him. Nerd. Seriously, it wasn't that big of a deal to say hi. Even Nicole talked to him AND got a couple pictures taken with him. Whatever. She had an advantage...a shower, make-up, a camera, a person to talk to his publicist...much better situation than you. You're sweaty and pink in the face. No one wants a picture with that...not even you.

I glance out of my haze and realize that Morris Chestnut has walked into the gym. Again. Holy hell. This can not be real. I thought he was done shooting in the area last week? Aw geez...I'm wearing the same clothes as last Wednesday. I look at my time on the machine and I have less than a minute left and he's walking back towards his elliptical. Eff it, I'm going to talk to him this time. Sweaty same clothes and all.

So I walk up to him and say, "Excuse me."

He sort of glances over to me while at the same time channel surfing for ESPN and says, "Yes?"

"Last time you were in here I saw you and I wanted to say hi, but I chickened out. So this time I actually wanted to do it. I just wanted to say hello and tell you that I'm a big fan of your work." (OK, not really all of your work because you've been in some pretty crappy movies...but I am a fan of your arms, abs, and face.)

"Thanks," he says, "I appreciate that."

Wow. His voice is kind of deep and his teeth are really white.

"No problem. It's not everyday you see someone like you in our little nowhere city. I'm glad I got a chance to say hi. OK, have a good workout."

"Thanks. You too."

I walked away and tried not to picture him checking out my ass. I know he wasn't, but it's fun to think so. I'm sure the saggy t-shirt stuck to my back with sweat that he was actually looking at was much sexier.

So, it's done. I have redeemed myself and tossed away the "chickenshit" lable that I earned last week. I talked to him. This Monday isn't off to such a bad start.

Maybe next time I'll actually tell him my name.