The kid looked way too old to be sitting in a stroller -- what is that about? Lately, I see a lot of 4-year-olds sitting in strollers. (Last week, I saw a German shepherd in a stroller at the corner of First and 79th. But that tired old creature looked like he had lived a long, arduous existence -- perhaps he needed the break.) In the 'burbs they have road rage -- on the Upper East Side, stroller madness. Pedestrians are at the mercy of cavalier moms arrogantly directing their Perego strollers wherever ... Chariots of the Tots!

Anyway, thanks to this other shopper of the parental persuasion, Randy had ample time to check out every item in my basket. He is such a lowlife -- most trainers are, I suspect. What rankles is the possibility that he'll discuss my three dozen condoms in the locker room. How embarrassing. Guess I'll just brazen it out and "act as if." As if what? I'm not sure -- as if I only buy condoms of one size? As if one size fits all my needs?

Thursday, July 8

I felt guilty this morning, turning off the ringer on my business phone. Torn between making my self-imposed quota or preserving my raw material, I opted for extra sleep.

I am not used to having my routine disrupted by a love interest. Or a lust interest, whichever this might be. Darling Matt kept me up until 4 a.m. talking, sipping red wine and making love -- then he got up at 8:30, rushed off to the No. 6 train and apparently put in a full day of work downtown. (How does he do it? I'm almost next door to the Lexington line but still have no idea how to use the subway. My Metro Card is still in its plastic wrapper, either expired or growing mold like the yogurt in my fridge.)

More to the point, I cannot function on four hours of sleep. Matthew can because he doesn't feel obliged to look his youngest. Actually, his boyish features are holding him back on the job, because he "doesn't look senior enough" and he thinks staying up late will make him look more experienced and businesslike. (His problems are the opposite of mine: The last thing I want is to look "experienced.") The good news is that Matt is so busy cultivating his patina of exhaustion that he doesn't ask how I spend my days. Or evenings, for that matter ... I love this phase of a relationship.

I woke late to discover umpteen hang-ups in voice mail -- one of my morning regulars was so anxious to get laid that he couldn't leave a message. "Make hay while the sun shines" -- but I was out like a light. This is the story of my love life, isn't it? A boyfriend is a professional liability, eating into precious time and energy that might have been expended profitably. I should keep Darling Matt at arm's length, but that's hard to do. The sound of his voice makes my heart sort of quiver. And I'm starting to keep score: If he calls before I start wanting him to, I'm ahead ... if he calls after, I'm a bit miffed.

Must go and take off this camphor mask before my 6:30 arrives.