Do you have a brother?

Between not feeling the best and the crappy weather we’ve had lately, I have not been able to get out for a run lately. Tonight was the first time I have gone for a run since I visited my family over the Thanksgiving break. I definitely need to ensure that I’m fairly healthy and in good shape before my FFS so that I can hopefully recover a little easier.

Last night was our last day for dance class. We went through all of the warm ups and ran across the floor a little, but that was basically it. We watched a little of their performance from last Friday on a small recorder view-screen. Our instructor brought a few goodies for us to share in, so I grabbed a brownie and some cookies. As we were standing around, one of the girls mentions that we should have had alcohol to drink. I look at her and say, “You’re not even 21 are you?”

She looks at me with a little smirk and says, “I’m 22.” When you’re young, you want to be older...when you’re old, you want to be younger.

Somehow we got on the subject of how old I was. A few girls thought I was around their same age at 24 or 25. I said “higher.”

I sat there pointing my thumb up into the air as they counted up.

“26...27....28.....29....no way....30....31....32...dang....35?” she guessed.

"Hey now! I’m 33.”

They didn’t believe me, so I dug out my driver’s license and handed it to them. It quickly became the “item to pass around.”

“Wow...that’s what you look like with short hair?”

“Do you have a brother?” .....somehow I get the feeling this won’t be the last time I hear this question....but perhaps for different reasons.

As we’re kinda sitting around, one of the girls that performed with the group but wasn’t actually in our class was talking about some bar they are going to party at, as well as perform their sexy little dance. She tells one of the other girls that she’s not wearing the same shirt because it shows off her “manly” arms. I look at her and go “w h a t e v e r” as I show her my own freaking huge arms. She says, “OK, mine aren’t that big...but you’re a guy.” Ehhhhh...I just hate that.

As I was walking back to my car after saying my farewells to some of my classmates, I ran into the instructor. She asks me again if I would like to attend next semester’s class, but I tell her I’ll be out for three weeks and there are just too many things going on. She pries a little further, and I tell her I’m having facial surgery. She says, “Wow, so you’re going to look different?”

“Yep.”

“Well, stop back by some time, I want to see.”

Now she doesn’t know that I’m going for FFS, but probably for other stuff like a nose job or something.