Bateman and I do a week’s worth of New York Times crossword puzzles every Saturday morning over coffee and cereal. (Lucky Charms for him, Cheerios for me.) (A “week” being Monday to Thursday, in case you were wondering. We’ll get up to the harder ones eventually.) (Oh, and we also read The Ethicist. Like, religiously.) When a guy friend heard this, he sighed and said, “How sickeningly yuppie sweet.”
It wasn’t a compliment. I glowed inside anyway.
This morning in Central Park, I was running behind a couple about my age. I noticed him first because he was wearing a Yale hockey (“just does it better”) T-shirt. (My first thought? “You call that a hockey team? [My Ivy League School] always made Yale look like a bunch of chumps!”) The girl next to him was wearing a pair of Puma running shorts nearly identical to mine. At one point he put his arm around her waist, and she did the same, and they ran like that — happily entwined — for a few paces.
“How sickeningly yuppie sweet,” I thought.
And beamed at their receding backs.
