Honey comes in with her face red, breathing heavy. Her shirt’s wet around the neck. She looks like she got splashed with water, but it’s sweat. I don’t say anything. Just look at her like whoa. She doesn’t look back, just walks past me to the kitchen. I follow her and find her standing over the sink gulping water from a coffee mug.
“Nice jog?” I say.
I know nobody says jog anymore. Back a few years ago everybody was a jogger. Now everybody’s a runner. Running shorts, running shoes, running here, running there. Jogging is out, for sure.
Honey gives me a slight nod and wipes sweat from her face with a forearm. She fills the mug again and drinks so fast the water drips down her chin and onto her shirt. She chokes, coughs, and spits some of the water into the sink.
“Pretty hot out there?” I say.
She gathers herself, brushes her hands over the wet spots on her shirt. She says, “It’s getting there.”
Honey’s been on this I-wanna-be-skinny kick since I’ve known her. But she isn’t a skinny-girl. I tell her she needs to accept it. Embrace it, I say. I like her whatever way she is, that’s the truth.
“You feel OK?” I say. “No pain in the joints, right?”
I read something somewhere about how running (jogging) is particularly hard on women’s joints. Something about less cartilage or weak cartilage or dissolving cartilage.
“Why?” She says, walking back toward the bedroom.
I follow her. “Running causes your cartilage to dissolve. For women, I mean.”
She gives me that look like you’re full of shit.
“No, serious.” I say. “I read it the other day. There was a study and the scientist said women’s bodies just aren’t made for that kinda wear and tear. I mean, it makes sense if you think about it. Women aren’t utilitarian, you know? Not what the Good Lord intended.”
She ignores me. She grabs clean underwear from her drawer and walks into the bathroom and closes the door.
“I’m gonna google that article so you can read it.” I say through the door. The water in the shower kicks on and I go back to the kitchen.
I open my laptop and start googling words like dissolving joints, women weak cartilage, women running pain. I can’t find the article, but there’s a lot of other stuff that comes up.
She walks into the kitchen looking fresh. Her hair’s wet. I love her after a shower. I love her shampoo smell.
“I can’t find the one I was talking about, but there’s stuff online about how running is bad for women.” I say.
“It’s not like I’m running marathons.” She says. “You should see me. I’m slow. It took me twenty minutes to get around the block.” She starts running in place in slow motion.
“Just sayin’, I don’t wanna see you crippled by fifty.” I say.
“Just sayin’, you should come with me.” Honey says.
There it is. I knew it.
“You’ve got superior, manly cartilage in your knees. Running with me should be no problem for you, right?” She says.
“First of all,” I say, “I’m old school. I don’t run. If anything, I jog.”
“If anything? That’s a big if.” She says.
Funny.
“I knew this was gonna happen-” I say. “You’re tryin’ to suck me into your I-gotta-be-skinny mentality. But I don’t wanna go down that road. That’s a scary road, Honey. I like me, and I like you.” I try to reach out to grab her but she swats my hand away.
She says, “I like us, too. But face it, Sir, we’re fat. We’re fat people.”
“What?” I say, using my that-really-hurts tone. “I guess I know what you think of me, now. But I think you look great.”
“Come on, you know what I’m saying’.” She says.
I know what she’s saying. That doesn’t mean I wanna run with her.
“I read another article recently that said sex burns more calories than exercise.” I say.
“You’ve been reading lots lately, huh?” She says.
“I like keeping up with the news of the day.” I say.
“Well, did you see the study that said that women are more likely to reach their personal health goals when they feel like the man in their life is supportive?” She says.
“I missed that one.” I say. “But did you see the study that showed that most doctors are now very skeptical of whether they really know what the hell they’re talking about?”
“Must’ve overlooked it. But I did see an article about how men are far more likely to die early because they don’t listen to their wives and they’re too lazy to move their ass once-in-awhile.” She says.
“Oh?” I say, “Oh really? I didn’t see that. But that’s interesting because I saw one that said that women are sorta crazy. Actually, very crazy is what they said, I believe.”
“Hmm. That sounds like interesting research they’ve got going on. Government funded, I suppose?” She says, shaking her head.
She’s standing at the counter eating yogurt out of a little plastic cup. Fruit on the bottom.
“You got any more of those?” I say.
“Bottom shelf.”
I open the fridge and find the yogurt. Peach. I grab a spoon and pull off the aluminum top and eat a bite.
“But serious.” I say. “That thing about women’s cartilage is real.”
* * * * *
To learn more about the real Sokal Affair, read the original Wikipedia article HERE.
