After her workout, in the locker room, as she showers, she feels a wave of annoyance slowly wash over her. Yeah, okay, so maybe she's more fit than they're using to seeing, but all the jokes were beginning to grate on her. Now she knows how Barney feels. So she spends the extra time uber-glamming up. Maybe she'll wave her fingers at Ted as she leaves with her hair blown-dry to perfection and lip gloss on. That'll show him.
Except, when she leaves, she passes by Barney on the treadmills. He's swapped his suit for a more practical wifebeater and shorts, his earbuds are in. She stops for a minute, watches his feet crash down on the treadmill with thumping intensity. A girl beside her elbows her. "Incredible, isn't he?"
"What?"
She looks like a twenty-year-old Paris Hilton wannabe. "He's, like, the hottest guy here."
She feels her mouth running dry. She needs to escape this weird nexus of, like, feminist empowerment drainage. She's headed for Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan idolatry next and there's no way she's prepared for that. She takes a few steps away. "No, uh, that's—that's my friend, Barney." The other girls in the line (there's other girls in a line?) gawk at her.
"You know him? Like, oh, my god, you are so lucky."
"I'm really not," she replies, offhandedly. "I mean, it's just…"
The girl cracks her gum in expectation, lowers her Dior sunglasses. "Oh my God, have you slept with him?" She hears whispers down the line, feels a bit like this is Team Whisper Down the Alley, and she's losing badly.
That's when Barney stops running, pulls his earbuds out, looks up, and sees her. He grins. "Scherbatsky!"
The other girls gawk at her. He gives them a wink. "Hey, Barney."
