If I Knew Then...

Last night I saw the Fig for the first time in 10 months and some 40 pounds (I have no idea what I weighed in July).

I walked in to the pub to find him playing one of those video trivia games. He looked at me and said, “Something’s different about you – you look taller,” to which I struggled not to roll my eyes, sigh, and possibly cry. I’ve lost 40 pounds and all I look is taller?

I shook my head.

“Well, you look well,” he said.

After a bottle of sauvignon blanc he said he could tell I’d lost weight, but didn’t know what to say. (He still insisted that the weight loss did, in fact, make me look taller.) He also said something that surprised me: That he had fancied me (yes, he’s English) last summer.

It surprised me – and made me sad -- because I’ve spent no small amount of time since last summer thinking that if I had just been thinner, things with him would have worked out differently. We went out several times and had a blast (and some lost email), but nothing ever happened. Then he disappeared. It just had to be the fat, I was sure of it.

I was wrong.

I’m too superstitious to write much more, just as I’m too superstitious to store his number in my mobile again. (He told me he’d never deleted mine – see “bottle of sauvignon blanc” above, and we both laughed when I pointed out that he hadn’t used it, either.)

Stay tuned.