Another Reason I Love My (Small-Town) Gym

It wasn’t til last night, as I was preparing for sleep, that I noticed that my water bottle was nowhere to be found, the one that travels everywhere with me during the day, the one that sits on my nightstand at night, the one I bought in spite of the fact that it says klean kanteen on it, because on principal I do not patronize places/companies that spell things funny, and you will never catch me eating in a Kountry Kitchen unless (a) I am starved and cranky and there are truly no other options or (b) someone has somehow convinced me of this Kountry Kitchen’s exceptional—and I do mean exceptional—kulinary merits, but I did buy the klean kanteen because I liked the design and the color and I convinced myself that at an all-too-quick glance I could mistake one of those words for my name, so klean kanteen, against all odds, got my money, and, as I said, that bottle goes everywhere with me, so when I couldn’t find it late last night in the bedroom or in my office or in the kitchen or in my gym bag I realized that I must have left it at the gym, probably on the treadmill, and I was sad because I get overly attached to things for no real reason, but I figured I had a shot of finding it there this morning, although I hadn’t planned to go to the gym today at all—I was going to work out on my own elliptical while catching up on some taped TV—but go to the gym I did in an effort to be reunited with my klean kanteen, and as I walked in the door both of the gym-owning twins greeted me, and one already had my water bottle in his hand and was holding it out to me, saying “Look what you left here yesterday!” and I was so happy to see it again, and because it’s such a small-town gym I’m OK with feeling warm and fuzzy at the fact that they knew that this water bottle was my water bottle, because I do feel warm and fuzzy about it, instead of creeped out.