Story Submitted by April:
Colin and I met in kindergarten and we went to elementary school together until his family moved away in seventh grade. He was always very special to me because I used to be one of the fat girls in the class, and he was one of my only friends back then.
Thanks to the magic of the Internet, I found him about a year ago and wouldn't you know it, he lived relatively close by! Throw the fact that he had grown into an attractive man and the fact that he wasn't married into the mix, and you had a recipe for something potentially special.
The first thing he said to me when we met up was, "Damn, you look good." He was taller than I had remembered, and was in a suit. He was an attorney now, and was working in a practice.
He took me to an extremely ritzy restaurant, ordered an expensive bottle of wine, and pointed out items on the menu that he recommended, all vegetarian things.
I asked, "How's the chicken in champagne sauce?"
He said, "You don't want that. Don't want to get fat again."
I thought I had misheard him. I must have. I asked, "Come again?"
He stared at me for an uncomfortable few moments, then smiled and brushed it off, "I was just kidding."
I took my prior weight problems with a healthy dose of good humor, but he hadn't said it in a "kidding" way. Still, everything else about him was great. What if I had just misread his intent? The wine came and he poured it for us.
After a few minutes, though, it became clear that he seemed pretty intent on discussing my body. He asked me how I had lost my weight, if everyone asked me if I had liposuction (I hadn't - I'm all diet and exercise), if I felt that my personality had changed as a result of not being fat anymore... it was non-stop and a little overboard.
Finally, I asked him, "Can we talk about something else?"
He said, "If we have kids, they'll get the fat gene from you. It's inherited through the mother."
I didn't say anything.
He nailed his coffin shut by taking some of my wine and pouring it into his own glass. "Alcohol makes you fat," he said. Then, in response to my stare, he said, "What? I'm helping you."
Selecting my words carefully, I said, "I think we should talk about something else."
He said, "I'm paying for dinner," which made no sense. Because you're paying for dinner, I have to sit here and listen to your repeated attempts to be offensive?
It was a shame that a guy I had such fond memories of and who had grown into some sort of success had become such an asshole. I gave him one more chance, and poured the wine he had taken from me back into my glass, with the intent of changing the subject right after.
He took my glass and spat in it, then swirled it around. That was all I needed. I left then and there. Let someone else put up with his antics. At least some of us have grown up since kindergarten.
Story Submitted by April: