Welcome to “Thirst – The Conclusion.”  Last night, we experienced Dave’s harrowing journey into a dark break room to purchase bottled water.  Dave emerged with water, but was timid, while taking photos of the light switches to properly document his experience.  What gives?  What remains?  What adventures are waiting?  Join us as we quench the “thirst.”  (Catch up on all the action by reading “Thirst – Part One.”)

Now, “Thirst – The Conclusion…”

I was pretty proud of myself.  I once again packed up my gym clothes and planned on attending spin class at lunch.  I was on a fitness roll.

Arriving at the gym in plenty of time and changing my clothes, I suddenly realized an error.  An omission I had made before, I had once again forgotten my water bottle.  Quickly running through my options, I realized only one remained.  I would need to venture out into the below freezing temperatures, in my gym shorts, which display my properly toned legs (I highlight this because it is the only part of my body actually in shape, so I might as well flaunt them.  Keep your eyes on the legs, if you can see them in the shadow of the belly.), and jog to the car, in order to see if I had enough change for the Y Center vending machine.  I knew it would be close, but I had no idea what sacrifices would need to be made.

Opening my frost covered car, I leaned over the frozen interior to see what change rested in the center console.  Sadness.  Great frozen sadness awaited me and my exposed muscular now-chilly legs (There I go again, oh well, I am really proud of my legs.  If you got ‘em, show ‘em.  My self-absorbed gift to the world.).  About 90 cents.  Well short of the $1.50 needed for a beverage.  Then I saw it, underneath the various charger cords and an old Elmo figurine, a gold dollar.

Shiny, perfect, resting there, and waiting for me.  The Sacagawea gold dollar would put me over the top and help deliver me my beverage.  I reached for the coin and recalled its original purpose.  Over the summer, I had stashed the golden coin in the car, in the event that our 7-year-old Sam lost a tooth, while on vacation.  I was never a good Boy Scout, but in this instance, I was prepared.  If that tooth popped out at the lake or during a visit to family, I would have been able to instantly fill the role of Tooth Fairy.  I would have been a hero.  I was ready.  My needs however were different now.  I needed water to survive spin class.  The kids would understand (sort of) and there was plenty of time to restock the gold dollar, before any upcoming travel.  Tucking the dollar in my right shorts pocket (next to my well-developed quadriceps), I was ready for class.

Sacagawea and the Tooth Fairy, unrecognized as one of history’s great power duos.

Judging from the vending machine, Propel flavored water has a stranglehold on the Y Center.  I picked Strawberry Kiwi flavor, as opposed to my preferred flavor of Grape, because it reminded me of my 6-year-old Ben’s love of Kiwis, and I hustled up to class.  My Adonis-like legs carried me up the stairs and delivered me to spin class just before it started.

The musical theme for the class was fun:  Salsa.  Peppy, distracting, just the thing for exercise.  Taking a sip of my Strawberry Kiwi water, I realized my son Ben likes Kiwi, but I like Grape.  I should have chosen Grape, because he wasn’t the one drinking it.  Duh, sentimental fool.  Peddling with all of my might, a song from the past visited me, “Macarena.”  In the mid-90s, I used to dance a mean Macarena.  Don’t laugh.  Don’t mock.  In the mid-90s, everyone danced the Macarena.  Kids, I’ve seen the Twerk and I’m telling you, it is nothing to be proud of, so don’t slam the Macarena.  Well, so there I was, recalling the Macarena, when I spontaneously (but not too loudly) sang the line, “Hey, Macarena!”  Perfectly timed.  Perfectly acceptable behavior, but no one else joined in (as opposed to the time around Halloween, when I sang along with “Time Warp” and people joined in).  I was a loner.  I was the sole Macarena tribute artist.  Sure I considered flipping one of my hands around to the music.  I remembered the dance and I could have pulled it off on the bike (sure I probably would have risked falling off my bike, but I could have done it, I swear), but I did not.

It had become painfully obvious.  First, the timid behavior, while taking photos of light switches.  Now, my fear of looking just plain stupid, while I danced the Macarena on a bike.  What had happened?  Had Peter Pan, the boy who never grew up, finally grown up?  Was I now more fact (Sacagawea) than fiction (the Tooth Fairy, that’s Mr. Tooth Fairy to you)?

Heading to the Men’s Locker Room to shower, I realized that perhaps it was not such a bad thing.  Perhaps my chiseled legs of a Greek Olympic god were now carrying something much better than a boy who never grew up, they were now carrying a father, who embraces the joys of life, but maintains just enough common sense for society to accept him.  Peter Pan?  That boy had skinny legs and I bet he never drank Propel. 

Allison Williams as Peter Pan, let’s not even dwell on the confusion this creates.

Bonus footage…

I could not resist, here is an actual photo of my (David’s) legs. Like I said, other than needing a little sun (I blame this on the long Minnesota winter), they are perfect, almost as if they were chiseled by a Renaissance master.

Photo credit to Rico Heil (my close personal friend, although he is completely unaware of this, who photographed me in Florence, Italy).