Emily (Part Three)

After dinner and the card shop, Emily and I agreed to go out again and parted ways for the evening.

The next morning, Emily sent me a text message.

"I don't think it's going to work out," it said. "I don't see us going in the same direction in life."

This was news to me, as I hadn't thought we had really reached the point during our phone calls, our dinner, or the movie where we discussed our life goals and where we wanted to be in 10 years. Perhaps it was because when I found the card about potty training, I didn't swoon about how I can't wait to teach my own children to not urinate in the living room.

I was right. At least partially. After ruminating on the matter for a few days, I called her and asked what was up.

"I always thought by now I'd have babies," she explained. "I had it all planned out, but then everything happened with my ex-husband, and now I just don't know. Everything I had planned is on hold now."

"I'm open to having kids," I said. "I didn't think we'd need to have this conversation after one date. But since we're having it, I guess I should tell you that if I am going to ever have kids, I want it to be a few years down the road. I'm just not ready for that right now, though."

"Well," she said, "there's something else..."

She went on to explain that the fact that I'm overweight bothered her. Even though she, herself, was a bit overweight too. She said she wanted me to be healthy.

I agreed. I do want to be healthy. I've struggled with my weight for over 20 years. It's not a fun thing. It's a terrible thing, actually. Deep down, I am extremely self-conscious about my appearance. And, of course, self-consciousness leads to self-medication, and damn if there aren't some excellent-tasting salty and sweet medications readily available pretty much everywhere.

But I digress. She wanted me to lose weight. But she said she also wanted to lose weight. And we could do it together. I agreed. It sounded like a great idea. Plus, it's much easier to do these sorts of things with someone.

"But," she said, "I'm not going to force you to do anything."

"Okay," I said.

"I mean, really, I'm never going to tell you that you can't eat something."

"Fine," I said. "Not a problem."

"Okay," she said. "I just don't want you to resent me for wanting you to lose weight."

"Why would I resent you for wanting the same thing I want?" I asked.

"Well..." she said, pausing long enough for me to assume the call had been dropped.

"Are you there?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said.

"Well what?"

"Well, my ex used to tell me what I could and couldn't eat..."

"That's terrible!"

"And he made fun of my weight. And he told me I was fat and ugly."

"You're beautiful," I said. Because it was the truth.

"You're sweet," she said.

"Not sweet," I said. "Just honest."

Clearly, this guy had done quite the number on her. What kind of jerk says those things to another human being? Let me rephrase that. What kind of jerk older than ten says those things to another human being?

A jerk with tons of issues. That's who.

"So," I said, "If you still don't want to see me, that's fine -- I respect that -- but I just want you to know that I would never resent you for wanting me to be a healthier person."

She apologized and said she'd love to go out again.

TO BE CONTINUED...