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B is for Covered in Stupid (Gym Day)

I started to groan the second the mobile started ringing off. I could ignore it but he’d call. And call. And call. He’s a boy like that. I roll my eyes as ‘Barely Breathing’ continues to play. It seemed like a good idea at the time to have that as my ringtone.
“Hi,” He stretches it out. He always stretches his ‘hi’s’ like some strange game show announcer, “listen, I’m so sorry, but I’m gonna be… I don’t know, fifteen minutes late. Max.” He sounded contrite. He kept rattling off what the day was like and why he’d be late; the wind, whipping into his mobile as he spoke. I felt horrid about what I was going to tell him.
“I’m not going.” I said after a breath
He said nothing. All I heard was the wind; followed by the honking horn and the screaming.
“Sorry, bad drive. What were you saying now?”
“You heard.”
“I hate you, you know that.”
I smiled. It wasn’t funny but it was. I knew if I was near, he’d probably throw something or a few 'somethings' in my direction. Gym was a religious order for him; new converts who feign full conversion must endure some level of flagellation.
“I am COMING and we are GOING to gym.”
“I have work. I have to finish this off for class.”
Seemed plausible enough. But this fool studied psychology.
“So tell me again, why you're not going gym.”
“Because I have to finish this... thing for class.”
“Why aren't you going gym?”
“The timing’s been off for the last two months.”
“Why aren't you going gym?”
“Look. I’m on a budget right now okay. When everything’s back on track I’ll -”
“WHY aren't you going gym?”
“BECAUSE WHEN I TONE UP THEY’LL KNOW!”

Bastard. He had beaten me down to my last and, for what it’s worth, truest excuse. It was illogical; it was almost as daft as my fear of night time roaches burrowing into the refrigerator; it had no merit in the real world but there it was.  As long as I looked relatively fine (okay, like a slob), I was safe. Fitness is for fairies. Well, not really. It’s just… if they suspect you are and then one day you look like you are then what do you do? The body type myth was real and I know this because HE HAS…. THAT BODY! I’ve shaken it off a few times, but the truth is once the brain links synapses, it’s hard to cut them. I hated current me but I couldn’t bring myself to the consequences of a fit me. I think. Does that make sense? Who knows. Well, besides him.

“Dude,” he whispered solemnly but with a hint of care over the phone, “when did you know?”
“Know what?”
“That you were covered in stupid?! Boy! Your health! Pack up, I’m passing now!”


I started to protest but all I could do was chuckle. He got me again. And honestly, these reports could wait.

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