I recently lost weight (intentionally, but also as a result of just getting my life back in order). This, however, has made me recall a particularly memorable dating experience from several years ago.
Looking back with that scathing 20/20 or maybe even 15/20 clarity that one always possess with the luxury of hindsight, I would now flee the scene and deem the boy undateable for his transgressions. Unfortunately then I was blinded by the promise of romance and boy-friend-age.
We all have skinny friends. The girls that can wear the most absurd runway fashions and make them look exactly as Valentino, the house of McQueen, Calvin Klein, or even the Gap/Old Navy intended. I have never been one of those girls, but like many of my compatriots have dreamed that maybe one day I would obtain such glory.
I almost even got there once with a nasty bout of extremely restricted eating.
Unfortunately I like things that aren’t on the Kate Moss “nothing tastes as good as skinny feels” list (even though I think we could probably make a strong argument that at definite points in time Kate’s wispy frame could have been assisted by illicit drug use. This being said the super model size of skinny that somehow occasionally maintains double d breasts is about as obtainable as the truth behind Kim Kardashian’s recent nuptials.
I digress. Back to the incident at hand. This boy was a boy I had known for a long time. We had reconnected at a bar when I was in grad school and he was in town for the weekend on business. One thing had led to another, at the time I would have naively claimed that it was because I looked so stunning in my new trendy off the shoulder shirt and designer jeans further compounded by my witty repartee. Now I understand (as recently as today after reading a post about online dating), that all men are likely socialized to hit anything that moves. He had gone home with me that weekend to my townhouse. We (and by we I mean I) had refrained from crossing any major bases; there were of note some hands under some garments.
I like most sappy girls who loosely cling to the idea of the fairytale had imagined amazing things happening as a result of this new and fun “thing” that was likely happening to high schoolers simultaneously all over the world. And then… Wow! He actually called. This could be going some where right? when the out of towner calls post make out, heavy petting session?
Not too long after I was visiting his sister (for other reasons of course) and we arranged to meet up, get a drink, see where the night led us (he actually didn’t arrange for the last bit per se, but I did in my overly active imaginative brain, and if you believe the “Hit it if it
moves” theory about men he at least considered it). We ended up (after enough drinks to lose our inhibitions, approximately 2 for me and I think about the same for him (warning bells to that)), in a cab continuing our last meeting.
I should probably take a moment to apologize to all cab drivers out there, even though best case scenario is they are actually amused by such behavior as sucking face. This cabbie in particular didn’t seem to be concerned about our personal safety as we were knocked around like jumping beans sealed together via lips and various appendages. We eventually arrived at his place stumbling out of the cab, not due to inebriation, but more due to the treacherous conditions of the cab ride. We entered his building and in a moment which is likely as close to romance novel as I have gotten, he threw me on the stairs and jumped me with every intention of having his way. Music was swelling in my head, I saw fireworks (which could likely have been from the impact on the wood, but hey), and he whispered what I thought would be eluding to his unbelievable attraction and respect for me, “You are the biggest girl I have ever brought home.”
ummmmmmmmm…….. What?
And he repeated himself this time further explaining that he usually preferred a skinnier kind of gal.
And we have a swing and a miss.
Did I sleep with him?
No, thus avoiding definitive tragedy and an even larger hit to my already wilting self esteem.
Did we ever go out on a formal date?
No.
Will I ever understand what possessed him to utter such anti-sweet nothings?
I highly doubt it.
The Player: The Modelizer
Take home message: The “modelizer” that is discussed in Sex and the City does exist, and that guy if he opens his
mouth can kill a mood faster than Lindsay Lohan can violate her probation (Kombucha tea anyone?). Any guy should also have enough wherewithal to realize that no chick is actually going to want to shed clothing after such a misstep. The only problem is I still think about this incident any time things are about getting steamy. Is the new guy a skinny girl pedestalizer? Will he be disappointed once the outer layers are shed?
whatreallyhappenswhennotlooking 
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