Confessions of a Lip Biter

“HEY BUDDY IT LOOKS LIKE THAT GIRL DOESNT KEEP HER STOMACH TIGHT SHOULD I CANCEL HER TRIP UP?”

My eyes widened and he grabbed his iphone back from me.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” He asked resignedly.

“What? What did it say??” Claire asked.

This guy is one of the regulars. The sort to come in and drop big numbers on clothes for girls he’s dating. The sort who likes to come and drop big numbers on clothes for girls to impress other girls. A man who also shops for girls so he can flirt with the shop girls. So when he checked around to make sure he was alone with myself and my (young, pretty) co-worker before asking for our advice on how to handle a situation, I thought I knew what the nature of this conversation would be.

And could’nt have been more wrong.

He was trying to text his friend about a girl he was flying up to spend the weekend….and accidentally sent the text to the girl herself.

My skin crawled when I saw that message. I mean, I was struggling to be understanding but….guys do notice when you’re tummy’s soft? And they talk about it to their friends?? I mean, yeah: I like when a guy has a cute butt and I prefer him to be AT LEAST half a foot taller than me and maybe I’ll hash these assets with my girls but…

“Let me see the picture.”

I didn’t want to see the picture. Just like you don’t want to see if the guy making out with a chick across the bar is your ex and you don’t want to know what jello is made of. Yet I HAD to know.

“She’s really pretty.” He dissembled. “My friend kept going on about how hot she was.”

“Show me the picture.”

“She’s really sweet, too. Sexy accent.”

“I don’t care if she’s naked; I see naked women everyday.” (almost)

He reluctantly pulled up the picture and let us look at it for about 5 seconds flat. And I’ll be honest: I could see what he was talking about. She was lying (fully clothed) on her back with a small dog on her belly and, between where the dog was perched and her boob, was a bit of a bulge.

“Well, its—she—” I looked helplessly at Claire.

“Its all in the angles.” She said, “Its really hard to take a good picture with a phone.”

“Yeah! Sometimes my arms are so much closer to the lens that they look huger than my head.”

He looked at me doubtfully.

“Maybe it’s her ribcage! When I lie flat on my back, mine sometimes sticks out funny.” I pressed my dress against my tummy to show him my lower rib.

He looked again at the picture. “I can’t deal with women who aren’t fit. I’m sorry if that makes me an asshole.”

“Well, she’s not a 0 but—”

“All the women I date are 0s.”

“She’s probably a 2 or a 4.”

“I don’t do 4s.” he looked horrified. We were horrified.

“Well, the poor girl is probably doing sit-ups right now.” Claire tried to quip.

He relaxed and said hopefully, “Yeah. Maybe this is a good thing; maybe she’ll starve herself for the rest of the week.”

?!!!!!!!

I’m sorry: ?!!!!!!!!

I laughed—I didn’t know how else to handle this situation. Claire muttered with a strained smile, “Yeah, that’s what the world wants: starving women.”

He missed her sarcasm. “The last girl I dated was a 2 but I got her down to a 0.”

“You ‘got her down’?!”

“Actually, she ended up being 00—she would shop in the kid’s section.”

“Um….” I had to get him out of his disturbing little revery. “What are you going to do if she gets here and she’s a 4?”

“Or a 6?” Claire chimed in.

“I won’t touch her.” (I swear to God: he was totally sincere) “I’ll be nice and hang out with her and stuff but I won’t touch her.”

“Not even with the lights off?” Ok, I still hate myself for asking that but C’MON.

He got a disgusted look then shook his head resolutely. “I’ve never had to and I don’t plan to.”

Suddenly, his eyes popped up. “If she’s not a 0, this really isn’t going to work out. I had some things I had bought for the last girl and I was just going to give them to her.”

We stared at him.

“If she’s not a 0, she won’t fit!”

Still staring.

“She said she was a small or xtra small—”

Clair interrupted abruptly, “She’s a medium.”

He closed his mouth. Straightened his shoulders. And marched out.

This really happened. There are men out there who really care. It makes you wonder how many men out there really care but don’t say anything because they know they’re lucky to “get some”. I’m not going to lie: I’m a little traumatized—Claire and I both are. I, however, know my body. I’m a size zero by default (I’m very petite) but my tummy is definitely not flat, my arms are fleshy, I have a “bubble butt” and my inner thighs are super soft and gummy. And, while I do exercise and try to eat healthy most of the time, I know that this is what I’ve got. And I love my body—even if noone else does.