I went on another blind date this weekend. A two hour drive to the diner and a 20 minute lunch later, the guy left. Three days later I get a text from him saying that he thinks I’m a nice person but we are in different places in our lives. Later on I get a call from a friend who knows the guy and she told me the truth…he thought I was too fat.
Right away my brain translated that to: Too fat to want, too fat to love, too fat to be happy.
I’m going on year 4 now in hopes of finding Mr. Right and while I have met some decent men, all have responded with “you seem really nice, but….”
I don’t know if its just that time of the month or my inner insecure self talking, but I’m starting to really believe this men. In all these dates that I have gone on, the only two constants have been the same generic response and me. This many people can not have the same opinion about the same person just coincidentally. There has to be some truth, I think they are right. I am too fat too love.
I have always been an eternal optimist. I have always loved love. But love has never loved me.
I’m good enough to be a booty call at midnight, a side chick no one knows, a mistress for years…but never someones one and only.
This post isn’t me wallowing in self pity or looking for affirmation that I’m good enough just as I am. This post is more of a reality check. Not everyone finds love. Not everyone gets to be happy. Maybe I’m destined for something different in my life. But while I wait for this magic moment, I’ll continue to waste my 29th year crying and being angry because
I didn’t give up on love, it gave up on me.