One Lung And Two Functional Limbs Down.

I was lying on a picnic blanket, partially clothed, looking mighty toned and tanned, with Jake Gyllenhall's post-coital head resting on my stomach, with a cool breeze blowing and some Enya-esque music piped through the air when my M C Hammer 'U Can't Touch Dis' ringtone woke me in the rudest fashion this morning.

Hottie-Hot-Pants Running Guy: You up?

The Pant: *croak* (most embarrassing) Yup.

(Attempt at silent clearing of throat unsuccessful.)

HHPRG: You sure?

TP: Totally. Been up since 3 doing pilates and drinking herbal tea.

HHPRG: I'll be at yours in 5. Listen, I'm a bit buggered from my surf yesterday (yes please) so I was thinking just a short (there is a God and He loves me) 4 or 5 ks this morning? (shit bugger fu*k.)

TP: In a row?

HHPRG: Ha ha, sleepy head (term of endearment? Flirting? Methinks so.). See you now.

A quick brush of the teeth and an application of "natural" looking make-up and I was on the road in at least seven minutes.

HHPRG: Howzit. (Cheek kiss - good sign.). Are you wearing make-up? (shit bugger fu*k.)

TP: Nooooooooo (emphatic). Must not have come off properly last night. You know how stubborn make-up can be.

HHPRG: I don't, actually (not gay - good sign). Can you touch your toes? I want to see how flexible you are first thing in the morning.

TP: Oh, Baby. I'm flexible. But you're going to have to buy me a drink before you get to see how flexible I am.

HHPRG: Just need to see how much stretching we're going to have to do.

TP: (gulp - think may have bitten off more than I can chew) um...

HHPRG: Come on, Pant. We don't want you getting any injuries.

TP: (shit bugger fu*k). Um... What - er - kind of injuries are you talking about?

HHPRG: Pulled hammies, shin splints-

TP: Oh! (relief) Stretching of muscles. Oh! Okay.

We stretched. And then we ran. Mother of God. Am one lung and two functional limbs down. Need wheelchair to get me through rest of day.

But Hottie-Hot-Pants Running Guy made me laugh, so that's a good thing. Our views on liquor seem to differ though. Which makes me worry about post-run future gatherings.

And this is how it ended:

The Pant: There's my house! Sweet sweet home. Oh how glorious your white walls are. I thought I was never going to see you again. Oh, God, thank You.

Hottie-Hot-Pants Running Guy: Happy to be home then? Tired?

TP: No, not tired (desperate attempt to stop panting unsuccessful). Just thirsty. You want to come in for a beer?

HHPRG: It's 5 to 6 in the morning.

TP: In South Africa. (pant pant) It's 5 to 6 in the morning in South Africa. Elsewhere, it's not 5 to 6. And besides, isn't beer one's reward for exercising?

HHPRG: Not today, Pant. I've got to get to work. And so must you.

Was he blowing me off?  Shit bugger fu*k.