My bulky Cameroonian trainer Parfait really came up with a zinger this week:
As I straddled a stack of step platforms, squatting until I was pretty sure some muscles were going to start stripping away from the bone, Parfait shot me a very serious look and simply asked, unprovoked:
"Mademoiselle - are you a Muslim?"
I squatted my ass right down onto that stack of steps.
Me: "HUH? Did you just ask me if I was a Muslim?"
Parfait: "Yes, mademoiselle. Well...ARE you?"
Me: "HUH?? Are you serious?"
Parfait: "Yes, mademoiselle. You maybe are a Muslim. Like from Zaire or Congo."
NOTE: I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP
Me: "HUH??? WHAT??? That is the weirdest thing I’ve heard in a long time. No, I’m not a Muslim. Was there any reason you wanted to ask me that?"
Parfait: "No reason, Mademoiselle. I just thought maybe you were." Enter high-pitched laughter. And then he moved me on to do lat raises, end of topic. What the hell? WHAT THE HELL?
Two more training sessions to go, people. I have a feeling that after the last one, he’s going to ask me to be his fourth wife or something. Oh, the many adventures of Parfait.