The Lighter Side of Dating

Originally posted 06/11/2005 10:51pm

I'm a serial dieter. Every day of my life since I graduated from college, I've been on one diet or another. I know all of the things you need to do to eat healthy. I know that I should choose a piece of fruit over a slice of cake. I know that water is better for me than soda pop. I know that a handful of chips is a portion, yet that doesn't stop me from wanting to eat the whole bag. The most recent diet I'm trying is the South Beach Diet. This is per my doctor's suggestion when I whined to him that I didn't know what else to do to shed some lbs. I've lost 8 lbs so far. I can be very successful with dieting if I get the right mind set. I lost 75 lbs on Weight Watchers a few years ago and kept it off for over a year. The thing is.. I suffer from compulsive fork-to-mouth disease. I like food. I like to cook. I like to sample my own cooking since I live at home and there's no one to cook for. So-- who wants to move in with me so that I don't feel compelled to eat the foods I cook?

In January 1998, I met "G" on Match.Com. He seemed like a fairly decent guy. (Don't all of my stories start out that way?) He was an accountant for some kind of factory in the southwest part of town. He liked reading, cooking, traveling, and working out. The thing that had most impressed me was that he touted in his bio that he had recently lost 50 lbs and was proud of his accomplishment. That made me think that maybe he wouldn't be too critical of someone trying to lose a few lbs herself. After a couple of weeks of writing, he asked me if I wanted to meet. We agreed to meet for lunch at a nearby steakhouse. I told him I'd be wearing red. He told me (jokingly, I thought) that he'd be the tall good looking guy wearing a leather jacket.

That morning, a snow storm had hit. The roads were icy and sidewalks were snow-covered. I didn't have a phone number to call and cancel so I decided to go to the restaurant anyhow and see if he showed. Right at our designated date-time, a tall, dark-haired guy who was somewhat attractive walked through the door. He looked at me and smiled one of those "fake" polite smiles and then gave me one of those fingertip handshakes-- you know the ones, kind of wimpy like the person doesn't really want to touch you but feels like they have to. The hostess led us to a table near a window. We made some small talk about the weather and then the waitress came to get our drink orders. "We'll both have ice water in the largest glass that you have, with lemon, no seeds in the lemon and only half filled with ice. Do not bring out any bread or butter," he told the waitress. I was stunned. I had seen men ordering for women on television and my friends often tease me that I possess "Sally" tendencies when I order (like "Sally" from "When Harry Met Sally", I like to have my foods a certain way) but this guy shocked me. After the waitress left, he looked at me and said, "Do you know how many calories are in one glass of regular soda? Do you know how many chemicals are in a glass of diet soda? And the bread-- killer! It's a waste of calories and it's better that we don't even have it on the table," he said. OK, I had told him in our emails that I was dieting but I would have liked the option to choose the right thing... or not. It was a date, for crying out loud, not a diet-consultation. Then, as I opened the menu, he put his hand on it and said, "We'll be ordering from the salad side of the menu." I tried not to look even more surprised. Take a girl to a steakhouse for lunch and tell her that she can have a salad.

Hmmm... OK. I looked at the salads trying to figure out which one sounded the best. Typically, I don't mind ordering salads, but I had decided before the date that since we were meeting at a steakhouse and I rarely eat red meat that it would be a treat to possibly have some steak... or even a burger. The waitress came back with our mega-sized ice water (emphasis on water) with seedless lemon. She said, "I suppose you don't want crackers either." He looked at her as if she had just said that she had peed in our water. She shrugged. Then, we ordered our salads. We both ended up ordering grilled chicken salads. I was surprised that he let me order my own. Although he did frown when I ordered ranch dressing. He asked for the low-cal French.

We started the small talk while we waited for our salads. Or... I guess I should say that HE started the small talk. He never really let me do any talking. He told me that he had gotten up at 6 am that morning and had gone to the gym and had spent two hours working out. He listed every machine, every rep, every set, every weight, and every minute of the workout for me. He explained the muscle groups he worked and even flexed a bicep for me. He told me that he then cleaned his house, cleaned out his truck, went to the grocery store and did a load of laundry before he met me. He then told me about his job and how long he had been at his job, what he did at his job, what everyone else did at his job, and what he hoped to accomplish at his job (ie become a supervisor within two years.) Then, our food came. Before I could take the first bite, he said, "Whoa! Don't eat the croutons. They are nuggets of death. Just as bad as the bread." He flicked each crouton off of his salad with his fork onto the table and then reached across and did the same to my salad. Then, he instructed me to remove half of the cheese, both yolks in both egg wedges and then told me to eat all of the "solid" veggies first (broccoli, radish, cauliflower, etc) before eating the lettuce because although it's a vegetable, the others had more vitamins and nutrients. I nodded and said thank you meekly and reached for my little cup of salad dressing. He shook his head and made one of those uh huh sounds. "You should dip your fork into your salad dressing and then your salad," he said and then demonstrated for me. At that point, I was waiting for him to put a bib on me and just feed me himself.

Now, I know he was being healthy, but it was a little extreme to me. As we ate, he told me all about his diet. Dr. Barry Sears and THE ZONE. He told me all about the principles of the diet, all of the things he's learned doing the diet, how long he had done the diet and how it changed his life. I was waiting for him to pull out a book and do the "Vanna White" hand gesture as if advertising the book. I just nodded and congratulated him. Then, he said, "Stick with me and we'll have you slimmed down in no time flat. We can even get you a membership at my gym and I can help you. I know how hard it is. I used to be you. Now look at me!" I just smiled politely and looked around for a reason to exit.

Then, just as I didn't think things could get any more bizarre, he announced to me, "You are date number 4." I looked at him quizzically and he said, "You are number 4 of 18." So, I asked what he meant and he explained to me that he had been in a long term relationship that went south once he started losing weight. So, once he lost all of the weight and got in shape, he noticed that women were paying more attention to him. He decided he wasn't going to rush into anything. He was going to date 18 different women of all ages, shapes, sizes, ethnicities before even thinking of settling down again. Now, keep in mind, I'm a romantic at heart so I said, "What if you meet someone you like before you get to woman #18?" He just shook his head, "Not going to happen. I am not going to allow myself to get serious about anyone until I've seen this thing through." I said, "But you can't put a number on love. What if your heart doesn't listen to your head and #8 is the one? She's everything you ever wanted and more." He said, "Then, she'll wait for me." I couldn't believe it. "Wait for you? You mean you'd keep on dating?" He just nodded. I asked him how he came up with the magical number 18 and he said that he just picked it with no real reason. It just sounded like a nice amount of people to meet before settling down.

At the end of the date, he politely informed me that I would not be hearing from him again. Ah, man, I had already imagined all of the picky eaters we were going to create together. Not.