The Aftermath

Yesterday I was up 8 pounds thanks to Friday's binge – the worst gain in a year, I think, from a binge that wasn't even the worst of the year. And unlike previous binge gains this one doesn't seem to be disappearing anytime fast.

I used to roll my eyes at (thin) friends who would whine about how heavy they felt when they'd put on five or six pounds. Now I get it. My waist has disappeared under a doughnut of excess fat – and it's one leaden doughnut. I can feel it (when I try to run, when I button my coat) and I can see it, and all it does is make me anxious.

Which in turn makes me want to eat. Which I know perfectly well will not help, and so thus far I haven't. If hunger isn't the problem, eating isn't the solution. No one ever starved to death between meals. (Maybe I should pull a Bart Simpson and write each of those on the chalkboard a couple dozen times.)

***

So, the single life. All of my lovely friends tell me I'll meet someone amazing, but the trouble is, no one knows him.

O nags me about Internet dating, and I check out the site he recommends. In order to join I'd have to answer questions such as "Why should you meet me?" to which all I want to answer is: "Um, should you?" I'd have to rank myself as below average, attractive, above average attractive. (Attractive to whom? I know mosquitoes find me attractive.) And then there's my personal favorite: "Eats healthy or eats most things." Eats most things? I know exactly what they mean, but the contrarian in me can't help wondering if they're referring to quantity or quality.

Just for kicks (and because it's free) I fill in some details and a nom de plume and click the "show me my matches" button. At the top of the list: O.

I burst out laughing and -- because I haven't actually signed up and so can't message him through the service -- text him to tell him we have to stop meeting like this. He responds apologizing for having stolen all my best lines about him for his profile. The semi-obnoxious texts (our specialty) fly back and forth furiously until finally I stop, thinking this is the problem I've had with dating recently is that no one I've met is as fun, funny, kind and interesting as my friends, male and female.

Before I go to bed I have a look at O's profile, which is pretty close to what I'd have written about him if I were trying to pimp him. (Not a surprise when you consider most of the lines were things I have said about him in the past.) One of the few lines he's added includes how much he likes a particular museum in London – one very few people have been to -- that happens to be one of my favorites.

Hmmph.