A Strange Guy Knows My Cycle
MTM and I were out at a bar before Christmas. Our friend John, former owner of our former favorite coffee spot, was in town from his new home in Brooklyn.
He crossed the room and beamed at me.
“How’s your cycle?”
Not hello. Not it’s been a while. He asked about my CYCLE!
More than two years, and the most important thing to him is my CYCLE.
All because of the freaking blog post that went something like this:
How’s a girl supposed to take this one? She walks into her favorite coffee shop (Hope and Union.) She steps up to the bar to place her order. The scruffy dude behind the bar smiles and says, “You’re having a mocha.” (I always get mochas on the weekends, thinking they don’t adhere to my rear end on weekends. I’m a dumb-dumb, I know.)
Figuring it is best to just go along with this order, as the extra calories will be his fault and not hers, she blurts out, “Sure. I’ll have the mocha.” She has not lacked willpower. Scruffy Coffee Dude will be her caloric scapegoat for Saturday. Hooray!
Swiping my debit card, he smiles and says, “I know your cycle.”
Huh? My cycle?
I’m going to assume that ‘I know your cycle’ is a form of college kid speak, and that it doesn’t mean to him what it means to me. It would be very creepy for a strange guy to know my cycle. It is bad enough that MTM knows my cycle, and he’s been in my life for over a decade now.
I stand there, turning beet red from my hairline to my fingertips. He makes my mocha, oblivious, while I wonder whether or not I am extra puffy this month from water weight gain. Is my under eye area bulging more than normal? Are my rings turning my fingers purple? Was I extra grumpy when I placed my order?
Sometimes, I wish I could just be a guy.