The cable guy gave me his number. In my living room. On a post-it note I politely but reluctantly forked over. I knew something was up the minute he set foot in my apartment. Something about the way he was smiling. And the fact that he shook my hand. But when he asked me more than one time..."it's Elizabeth, right?"...I thought "oh, no...this guy is not going to try to pick me up in my house!" But here's what sealed the deal. The cable guy noticed a workout DVD of mine and sat back, patting his barely-there belly, complaining that he could use a workout himself. And before I could stop myself, I quipped back "Shut up! You could not!" Translation: How dare you, skinny, sinewy man! How dare you tell a chubby chic YOU need to work out! Puleazzz!" But what cable guy heard was obviously something completely different, because he flashed me a cheesy Joey Tribbiani smile and said something to the effect of "Oh, yeah? You like what you see? How you doin?"
Doesn't he know that I've bubble wrapped myself in adipose tissue for a reason?!? Doesn't he see me squirming in obvious discomfort?!? Apparently not, because he hands me his number and says there's no reason I shouldn't be having fun in Los Angeles, as if he's just the one to show me a good time. Yikes.
Which came first, the chicken or the egg? I don't know. And don't care, really...as long as my eggs are scrambled well. But I can't help but wonder, as I shed the weight, unpack the baggage, and pop one inch of bubble wrap after another...which came first? The body image? Pop. Or the pounds? Pop. Pop. Sure, I can lose 60 pounds, but how long will it take for my self-esteem to catch up? Will I ever be able to flirt without feeling like I'm about to spontaneously combust? Don't get me wrong. I'm a shameless flirt. When I'm in public and flanked by a wing man or two. And with waiters...because I am Sally in When Harry Met Sally and don't want them to spit in my unsweetened iced tea with extra ice, a straw, and lime instead of lemon. But take me to a one-on-one flirt fest...and I'm 15 again. Standing in the parking lot. Kissing my boyfriend for the first, most incredibly awkward time.
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Didn't you see The Cable Guy?? Scary! Hopefully you threw that post-it note away as soon as he left. I've learned the hard way, don't ever ever give your number to any guy in LA. Next thing you know, they think they can drunk dial you in the middle of the night just because you flirted a little and said yes to one date. ha!