Dating / Kate

Don’t lie about your size – we will eventually find out

Dear Diary,

I went on a date with someone that, on paper, proved to be the ideal mate. It would slowly become a lesson about treating people like 2-dimensional figures that can be judged on their profession and height. It was my second Bumble date and he was an oral surgeon. All of his pictures were of his thick eyelashes and scrubs and I was hooked. As soon as I walked up to the quaint Italian restaurant on 14th I could see a familiar face, but this person was my height, not the majestic 6’1 I had been promised.

“Charlie?” I asked, hoping I was wrong. Not because I’m superficial, or rude, or evil, or an awful person, but call me crazy I think when you fill out your dating profile, you shouldn’t really lie. (Now I do have to admit that one time I lied about enjoying to hike and speaking Japanese, but both were innocent mistakes and I’ll elaborate on another day.)

It was definitely good ol’ Charles standing there by the door. He smiled and I could tell that his smile was worth the lie, so I approached him and did the awkward “we don’t know each other but we’ve texted a couple times so let’s hug and pretend that this isn’t awkward.” In the next few minutes, I found out that he was not only 5’8”, but he was also from a long list of doctors. When I say long, I mean very long. His siblings, parents, and both grandparents were also doctors. His grandmother was a doctor. I know this because I asked, “your grandmother was a doctor, not a nurse?” It came out and suddenly I felt my women studies TA poking me in the eyes and damning me, I felt it deep in the pits of my soul. But if you look at the timing, it was alarming, that was about 70 years ago.

“Yes, she was. What again is it that you do?” It wasn’t the nicest way to turn the conversation in my direction, but he had ordered appetizers, a bottle of wine, and a couple entrees to share so although he we had very little in common, we also had plenty of time left. I got as much as I could in, but it seems as though as much time as doctors spend in the operating room or on call (averaged about 47 hours a day from the way he was timing his days – poor doctor wasn’t great at math), they also spend the same amount of time talking about being at the hospital. I don’t mean to be harsh on Charlie. He seemed a bit sleep deprived, but really he had absolutely no interest in anything I had to say – at all.

If I could see Charlie again, which I hope I don’t because that would mean I would need him to operate on me and if he lies about his height I get the feeling he can’t measure things and then he would over stitch my mouth and I don’t know how I could come back from that, I have one question for him:

Why on earth did you order so much food?

We could have grabbed a couple drinks and called it a night. It would have been so fine, pleasant even. But no, he had to order the divine grilled octopus and manchego cheese. He’ll probably remember me as the girl that ate all the food and drank all the wine. When really I’m the girl that didn’t want to stay there but had to listen to him rant. The date went on though, we did this thing when we departed that may be considered a hug in some cultures but it was more like a mutual arm graze for me. Very mutual arm graze since he is my equal in size and stature. I texted him saying thank you the next day, and never received a response, maybe he was busy.

He was probably on call.

Xoxo,

Kate Chopin

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