Paul Returns

I used to have this little "friend" at the gym. His name was Paul, and he liked to follow me around and talk to me about things he'd done over the weekend, like go to a bar and ogle girls butts, and drink red bull vodkas and be loud and obnoxious, and all the other usual stuff guys talk to each other about.

He was a little guy, maybe 5'6", and he usually wore T-Shirts with beer logos on them, or the names of obscure restaurants that I'd never heard of or been to before (Shakey's Fish Lodge, home of the $7.99 tuna melt). He looked somewhat similar to Sven Sungaard, and he smelled like lotion and hair gel.

He was a fairly pleasant, upbeat person, but I just wasn't really interested in listening to him prattle on about stuff I didn't really care about, so I began actively avoiding him, and ignoring him when he pranced on by, and even hiding in the handicapped toilet for 45 minutes (much to the chagrin of the paraplegic guy who had to take a massive dump) until he left the locker room. Eventually, he got the hint and I stopped seeing so much of him, which was refreshing, because then I could spend my time doing the things I enjoyed, like lifting weights, and sitting there trying to look marginally cool.

About a month ago, I started noticing him around a lot again however. He was just as cheerful as ever, but I could see he'd added about 25 pounds directly to his stomach which was now poking out from under his beer t-shirt like a girl in her 2nd trimester of pregnancy. The thought of Paul being pregnant amused me, but I assumed that even little Peter Pan guys aren't capable of that so it had to be one of two things. Either he got a desk job for the first time ever (Side Note: I have no idea what his occupation was before, I just assumed "greeter" at Wal-Mart), or he met a girl. I found out because he found me.

Paul: Dude what's going on??
Me (acting distracted): Hey, what's happening?
Paul: Haven't talked to you in for EVER!
Me: (staring at the drinking fountain): Yeah, what happened, did you die?
Paul: Yeah, and went to heaven. I met my fiancee!!

Bingo! Aaaaaaand you're gay for saying you died and went to heaven when you met a girl. This is not a movie from the 40's. Guys shouldn't say stuff like that to other guys, especially since he had worked so hard in the past to cultivate his image as a cool party guy to me. Not that I was buying it anyway, but still...

Paul: Hey, you wanna meet her? Rach, come here babes.

This was not part of the deal. I look around for a fire alarm to yank. I am stuck. Now, had you asked me to picture the type of girl that would date Paul, I would have said petite and perky and chipper, kind of like him. I figured the two of them would skitter around and pollenate flowers and sprinkle pixie dust on people or something, I don't know.

I don't know how to describe the girl that came over. Instead of a happy pixie, she looked more like the ass end of a chupacabra. She was very tall, and very pale, almost to the point of being gray, and she had one of those noses that bends out and down, so it looked like it might eventually grow right into her mouth, which would at least make for a conversation starter. She looked like she was having a dreadful time at the gym. I started to wonder about the dynamic of that relationship. Cheerful, bouncy Paul and sad, chupacabra assed face Rachel whose nose is slowly growing into her mouth. The strange thing is, they'll probably get married and live happily ever after. Who can predict relationships?