A friend I’ll call Doug goes to California on business a lot, and he met his new boyfriend in a leather bar in LA. After months of back and forth, Chi–pronounced “sky” without the s–sold all of his furniture, shipped 25 boxes of miscellanea to Chicago, and moved in with Doug a few days before Christmas. I called them on New Year’s Eve and suggested we meet for an early drink, mostly because I wanted to check out the new boyfriend.
Chi said he didn’t drink alcohol, which would explain, in part, the healthy glow and buff body. Doug ordered a vodka and grapefruit juice. I ordered a pint of stout.
“OK, let me start a new line of questioning. How do you spell ‘Chi’?”
“My name is the Greek letter chi.”
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“Oh, chi. Now we’re getting somewhere. You’ll have to excuse me, I’m a borderline idiot. And I never made it into a fraternity. How exactly is that spelled?”
“You spell chi X?”
“I just use Chi.”
