December is one of the most beautiful months in west-central Florida. Even though it’s a bit chilly for Florida, the sky is very blue, the sun very bright and the palm trees very green–the combination makes it a perfect time sit on a Starbucks patio and have coffee with one’s former trainer.

Well, not coffee, exactly. It’s not like I could actually get away with having my favorite grande mocha/no whip, because I knew he’d ask what I was drinking. I ordered, took my drink and sat outside in the sun fiddling with my PDA. Promptly, up sauntered Trainer T, who, as he entered, asked “What are you drinking?”

Ha. You have to get up pretty early in the morning to make ME wrong about things.

“Green tea, iced, sugar-free classic,” I told him.
“Oh,” he said. “Tastes like…”
“Shit,” I offered.
“Yeah,” he sympathized, as he went in to order his decaf, his 0% bodyfat displayed in a skintight training outfit. And to add insult to injury, he’s my age.

We spent a while catching up, it had been a year since we’d really talked, before both going back to the gym, me to work out and him to pick up paperwork. I was interval training on the elliptical when I heard him approach the cardio deck.

Big smile: “We’ve always gotten along so well, it’s like I just saw you yesterday,” he said. “I’d thought about texting or emailing you to find out what’s going on, because there is ALWAYS something going on in your life. So let’s do this again next Saturday and oh-by-the-way I teach Pilates at 11:30, you need to come.”

Now, before you assume it’s a hit, no, really it isn’t. I mean, it’s hard to muster up that thought with a man with a six-pack who has approached you with calipers, seen your almost naked body (or at least way too much of it), weighed you, and who dates 25 year old figure competitors.

It would be like….like dating your gynecologist. Although I’ve always had a burning question to ask mine, who just retired two years ago and I finally did. “Dr M, doesn’t this job just ruin sex for you?”

Dr M allowed as how he tried not to think of it the same way. My next question would have been “so how’s that been workin’ for you?” if he hadn’t looked so startled at my first one.

Oh how I cried when I said goodbye to him: I did love my Dr. M, who always knew how to handle me, who performed surgeries on me and who knew that when he told me I had to have surgery, and I cried and asked “do I HAVE to?” that the best answer was always “YES.”

The podiatrist didn’t know that and so when he told me I needed a cortisone shot in my heel that first time, I asked “do I HAVE to?” and he told me I could try ibuprofen and stretching. That lasted about a week and I was in his office BEGGING for the needle, like a junkie.

But back to why Trainer T was not hitting on me. No. It’s just that I give him the best relationship advice (which he doesn’t take), give him dating assignments which he knows I’m right about but refuses to do, and make him laugh. It’s a brotherly/sisterly thing.

So that was my afternoon. And so now, I really should continue organizing and packing, but I don’t want to. I have 3 Netflix sitting here and a party to go to tonight. I was thrilled to look in the back of my closet at what I thought was a coat and instead, find this fabulous coatdress I’d lost track of. It’s winter, I’ll be back here Feb. 1 and it’ll be perfect for Nashville. I also found the short polka dot skirt I love so much and I need to remember to bring my black leather boots from San Jose when I return.

All that “finding” burned me out on organizing and packing. I might have to lounge around and watch a Netflix before performing my pre-party ablutions.

Yes. I’m going to go cut an apple and some sharp provolone and have me a movie snack (oh, don’t I feel righteous about drinking that vile green tea concoction today. It’s like the Spam of beverages).