It's nine at night and I'm at the gym, trying to justify having pizza and a gin and tonic at four in the afternoon.

I get onto an elliptical machine and put on my headphones. Dancing with the Stars isn't holding my attention on the screen in front of me and I start looking around. The girl on the machine next to me looks familiar, but I try to avoiding staring and seeming like some sort of creep. I glance over at her a few more times and when I'm finally sure I know who she is I get her attention.

"Is your name Megan?" I ask. She says that it is. We went to high school together.

We both exclaim (several times) how weird this is, and then trade facts about our lives. "I actually work at Playboy," she says. There's a pause. "Not as a model," she adds, laughing. I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Her delivery sounds rehearsed, and I imagine how many times she's been out at a bar and used that joke on whatever guy she's flirting with.

"Do you like this gym?" she asks. I tell her that it's a little too cruisey for me. She looks at me confused. "I get cruised a lot here," I say, enunciating. "Perused?" she asks. It dawns on me that I'm going to have to explain to her what cruising is.

"No, cruise. It's slang for when one gay man checks out another gay man." She nods, and I can practically see a light go off inside her head. I clarify: "Not that I'm gay," and as soon as the words and tone come out of my mouth I realize that I sound like a gay man who isn't yet comfortable coming out of the closet. She nods and smiles politely at me. I realize that denying it more it just going to look worse, and I sigh inwardly.

I knew there was a reason I avoided the gym.