What happened was, I was in Gold’s this morning with the Cute Engineer, and he does find the culture of the gym entertaining at times but the giggles overtaking him seemed extreme even so, and I asked him: what? And he indicated a Mini Cooper car — a make of auto that he quite fancies, as it happens — parked outside the floor-to-ceiling front windows.
You will notice that a magnetic sign on the door advertises the services of a US real estate firm by the name of Coldwell Banker. Which means nothing, really, other than it was the firm I initially employed in my search for my first and present and please God only house I am never going through that again, and it was not good, but maybe it was just that agent, fine, but anyway we continued back to the free weight room to do single leg supported squats and there was a Dire, Bulky, Unsmiling, Rugged Bastard heaving away between two cable stacks, attired in a T-shirt with the same logo, Coldwell Banker.
Wife’s car, maybe?
I didn’t say Hello Kitty to him. Out loud.