Last night, I joined the girls (Mel, Tara, Cyn, Pooj and Vansmack, among others) for drinks at Yancy's and wore a dress shirt my brother abandoned over a black skirt.
Uninteresting, I realize. But bear with me. I came home, removed the shirt and stuck it on the back of a kitchen chair.
At 8 this morning, Tim the Trainer arrived to kick my ass and clamored in with his balance ball, chatting away about how I had obviously just rolled out of bed as he walked into the kitchen. Still chatting, he suddenly noticed the men's dress shirt on the back of the chair.
I'm going to try and describe the look on his face, but really, it's indescribable.
Eyes like a scared owl, he may have gasped. Clearly convinced some hook-up was snoring away on my bed, Tim seemed to be torn between "Oh god, I'm sorry! Is someone here?" and "What the fuck, Spots."
There was 4-5 second moment of shocked disapproving yet congratulatory silence.
After I stopped laughing, I pointed out that the shirt was mine and at no point in our work-out would a hungover man emerge from my boudoir. Which is when Tim did his impression of what that guy would be like. Apparently he says, "Sup dude" while scratching his belly and taking stock of his unfamiliar surroundings...