I live in midtown, so I get to walk to and from work. Since I am not a morning person I find that walking gives me a good warm-up into the day. I get to be bitchy and aggressive as I walk past Port Authority, strategic around 34th street judging how soon the walk light will turn and how far off the traffic is. I get to be awed if I remember to look down any street to my left and see the colors of the sun rising into Manhattan, and it is around 27th-or 28th street that I get to live a fantasy life.
There’s this guy who walks north up eighth avenue while I walk south and it’s usually around 28th street that we cross paths. This occurs most mornings at about ten til 8 on the east side of the street. I recognize that this well dressed good-looking bespectacled man (with broad shoulders and dark hair that is just long enough to begin to curl at the ends) is probably gay. However, he is not definitely gay. He is therefore my imaginary boyfriend.
I imagine he lives on 25th street between 7th and 8th, that he is a lawyer, and that he thinks I am the sexiest woman alive. I should perhaps mention that I do not put my make-up on until after I arrive at my office, and that I usually wear hot pink pumas with my slacks as I trek from the 40s to the 20s (a little over a mile) at 7:30 am. Once, while wearing cute boots (vs. my usual sensible albeit loud walking shoes) at this early hour, Mr. Fantasy noticed me, and I smiled. Perhaps he noticed my boots appreciatively because he’s gay. Perhaps he is straight and will marry me. I choose the latter.
I know that we will go to gallery openings and benefits at the Met. We will donate generously to the arts, and non-profits for education. We will have cocktail hour after I move into his place. He will drink Manhattans and I will drink side cars. I will be a completely different person.
Mr. Fantasy, as I imagine him to be, doesn’t mesh with me at all. I have an apartment decorated entirely in stuff that old roommates and strangers left there. I have a loft bed and the only DVDs I own are seasons of the Family Guy and the recently released “Hits” of South Park. I enjoy a nice restaurant, but I could also eat empanadas everyday and be happy.
I’m an attractive person. I’m sure any man trapped on a deserted island will count himself very lucky indeed, but on an island boasting millions of people (many thousands being models) I am not always the hottest in the room. It’s hard to have realistic self-esteem in these circumstances. I’ve also read Naomi Wolf’s The Beauty Myth, so I very rarely blow-dry my hair or have a pedicure.
Once when a co-worker and I were discussing US weekly and Jennifer and Vince we determined that Vince would be the perfect guy for me. My co-worker was complaining that he seemed to never care what he looked like, was a guy’s-guy, and extremely talented at being a goof-ball. In short, Vince Vaughn is a more attainable man for me than Mr. Fantasy. But the point is that my morning walks are good exercise, mental and otherwise. Between Sudoku puzzles and Mr. Fantasy, I’m at least at a low risk for Alzheimer’s.
