Game Like Gouda

Meandering about the grocery store after a long day, I was feeling uncharacteristically indecisive about what to have for dinner.  Cooking was not in the cards, but neither was walking around the entire store to attempt to figure out what to eat.  So, it was going to be deli or produce – the departments within closest proximity.  The limitations of the food being easy and close were weighing heavily on me.  It was a tough life.

I noticed the cute clerk was on duty, and loathed to admit to myself that this also affected my food choice.  He wasn’t my type, but from time to time, I enjoyed the mild flirtation – and I couldn’t enjoy mild flirtation if he was tallying up the bill for my chips and bacon.

In a move as lame as it was lazy, I grabbed the lettuce that was in front of me and headed for the checkout.  I normally would have done a little better than to give the strange yet stereotypical impression that I was going to eat lettuce for dinner, but really couldn’t be bothered, and truthfully, other than adding vinaigrette and a side of cheerios, I legitimately was about to eat lettuce for dinner. It wasn't  uncommon on my lazy days.

“Hey, how’ve you been?” he asked with a slight grin.

“Not bad.  Same old. You?”

Zing!  I was so smooth and interesting.  Yay me.

“Yeah.  Good.  Just working a lot and stuff”

We were obviously both interesting.  Commonalities?  Check!

“Cool.”

I paid for my lettuce and tossed my wallet back in my purse.

“Wait.”  He walked around the counter and handed me what looked like a recipe card.  With a lower voice, he continued.

“You’re  - uh - a preferred customer, so you get an invite to this event”

He avoided eye contact with me, and I felt my left eyebrow jolt to attention.

 “Oh?  Why am I preferred?”  I inquired, with what I imagined at the time was a cutely coquettish look on my face. 

Since I’m actually incapable of a cutely coquettish look, I’m sure it more closely resembled what I look like when attempting to control the volume of my farts.

He cleared his throat and flushed a little.  Had I unnerved him?  Maybe I was learning how to have a little game.

“Well” he quickly stole a glance back at the screen and lowered his voice further still, “uh … you eat a lot of cheese … I guess”

I looked down at the invitation for a cheese sampling in my hands.

Right.

Right.

Nothing sexier than a girl who eats a lot of cheese - enough cheese to be flagged on their system and find herself invited to a private tasting.  I’m sure it’s right up there with incontinence and upper lip hair. 
I was mortified.

           

 “Yeah” I mumbled, “lots of cheese sounds about right.”

I inhaled sharply and picked up the lettuce.  The covert pride with which I had so recently placed it upon the conveyor belt wilted rapidly around me.

“See you around” he said with a quick wave.

 I turned around and waved back.  

“Yep. Yeah.”  

A future as an orator was definitely in the cards for me. He was smirking.

 I shook my head and smiled to myself as I stepped outside.  This brand of embarrassment and I were old familiar friends. Chuckling most of the way home, I made a point to not regret my salad and cheerios - or my love of cheese.

The Oppositist pt. 2

"Well," he said with a bounce in his step "let's see if we can make up for that disaster with some good dinner."

By appealing to my love of food and my incredible hunger, he'd played the only card that would have kept me there, though the 'disaster' comment did make me want to trip him.
Since I picked the gelato, the dinner decision was left to him.  He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.  My stomach growled for the same reason.

"We should be there soon" he announced.

"Great" I replied with about as much spunk as a cinder block. "what's it called?"

"Um.  Amore I think"

The thought of the evening in any way being associated with the word 'amore' did worse things to my stomach than the mounting hunger.  This was now about getting dinner, and getting out.

"I'm actually not sure what it's called" he went on "I've never been there.  My friend recommended it.  I think it's in the food court."

Negative. 1000.  Points.

A food court?  I wondered if anyone went on nice dates anymore. Perhaps I had been guilty of watching one too many bad Jennifer Lopez movies on the women's network when I was sure no one would catch me, and was now paying  the price with a warped perception of romance.

We walked in to what actually turned out to be Aroma.  A nice cafe, though not a place I'd pick when looking for dinner on an empty stomach.  I walked behind him a little so I could roll my eyes vigourously without being seen.  It was surprisingly cathartic.

A chorus of angels sounded in my mind as I looked at the counter to see panini upon golden, glorious panini, just waiting to be grilled.  Most of them contained avocado, which, in my mind, settled the internal debate I'd been having over whether or not there was a god.

Before we reached the counter, I'd already decided upon a brie and avocado panini with extra mustard, and a double latte.  He turned and  looked at me.

"What do you think you'll get?"

I told him and the barista simultaneously.

"I think I'll get an espresso.   Yep."  He nodded at the barista and rocked back and forth on his feet, hands in his pockets.

"What are you going to eat?" I asked.

"Oh nothing.  I'm not hungry"

I prayed to my new avocado-providing god that he was kidding.

"But it's almost 9:00."  This was painful.

"I know.  We agreed to meet so late and start with gelato.  I just got hungry and decided to eat dinner before we met.  Didn't you eat?"

"No."  I said with teeth and fists all clenched.  "We were meeting for dinner, so I thought eating dinner first wouldn't be necessary."

"Well you can eat, if you want ... I'd love to watch you" he offered, behind a disturbing grin.

Watch me eat?

"No."  I offered no justification and turned to cancel my panini and pay for my drink.

"Thank you!"  he said "That's very impressive of you.  Not many girls would do that"  my jaw dropped as he turned to the barista "she's got mine."

I stormed to the patio while he waited for his coffee.

I felt like a cranky child.  A tantrum was not completely improbable.  I was infuriated with myself for not walking away from this ridiculous evening, and tried to think of a good way out that didn't involve scalding him.

He sat down with a grin.

"You see I didn't put any sugar in this" he lifted the tiny cup by the tiny handle with his tiny finger perched high in the air.

"I see" I replied, wondering if he would be merciful and not make whatever point he was gearing up to make.

"It's because I'm on a diet.  I only eat one small 300 calorie meal a day, and no sugar."

"That's not a diet" I replied, wiping the foam off my upper lip in an unapologetically unladlylike manner "that's a disorder."

He chuckled.

"Well I'd like to lose 10 - 15 pounds in the next 10 days."

He was already frail looking.  10 - 15 pounds less of him was entirely unnecessary.  145 pounds less of him at my table would have been entirely excellent.

"Okay."  I put my mug down.  "That's completely ridiculous.  You know it's ridiculous.  I can tell by the look on your face that you're trying to get a reaction out of me. Congratulations, here it is:  You know you don't need to lose any weight, and you know that the way you are choosing to do it is unhealthy and goes completely against what every credible professional has ever said about weight loss.  Furthermore, you're likely going to gain it back, and it's going to bring some of it's wobbly friends along with it - and quickly.  So essentially, you are sitting here telling me that you are planning to gain 10 pounds of fat in a rapid manner.  I don't understand why I'm supposed to be impressed by that."

He was listening to me with a grin on his face while nibbling the chocolate that came with the coffee.  I guessed both that chocolate and the gelato he'd had were not sugar free.

"Well you see, that's exactly it" he replied "I'm an Oppositist."

"What."

If I was a cartoon, my eyes, eyebrows, and mouth would all have become horizontal lines at that point.

"Ooh this is bitter." he said, distracted by his espresso.  "I'll have to make an exception." He shook two sugar packets, and winked at me as he poured them in.

"An Oppositist." he resumed, "I find that so much of what the 'experts' say doesn't work.  I choose to do the opposite of whatever they say, and it's done me well so far."

I made no attempt at disguising the eye roll this time.

"So you don't wear seatbelts, and you smoke, and hold knives by the pointy end, and stuff?" I asked.

"No."  he paused for a moment.  "Well no, not like that."

"Well like what then?"

"Well this diet, for instance."

"Yes, I understand that.  But what other instances in your life does this thinking apply?  You define yourself as an Oppositist.  I'm guessing it applies more broadly that this one situation."

"Well.  Like ...  Okay so there was this time ... you know it probably wouldn't make sense to you."

"You're right.  It makes no sense to me."

I chugged my latte.  It was far too hot for that, but my pride allowed for it.

"A lot of things here don't make sense to me."  I stood up, said goodbye, and walked away.

Two days later he emailed me to let me know that he may allow me to make another decision.  He wanted to go for coffee and said he would trust that I could pick a decent place. Maybe.

I used my decision-making skills to not reply.

The Compliment

While frequenting the local gym, as I'd been known to often do over the past year, I was mid leg press when I noticed something unusual.  Approaching me from a right angle with an unflinching toothy grin, a spray bottle, and the kind of plastic gloves that come in home hair-dye kits, was the little old man who I had seen regularly changing the paper towel rolls.  

He stood within one foot of me and continued to stare, expression unchanging.  I finished the press and looked over with a questioning smile.

"I see you on first day", said the man "You big and fat.  You big fat girl."

As if the comment weren't clear enough, he puffed his cheeks, raised his shoulders to his ears, and pulled his hands away from his hips to physically illustrate my apparently once uncanny resemblance the stay-puft marshmallow man.

Mouth agape, I wondered how high my eyebows actually were on my face, worried they might rise above my head, and remain suspended in the air there.

"You lose.  How much you lose?  Fifty pounds?" he asked

"I don't know."  I answered, trying to suppress the percolating laughter "I don't ...weigh ... um ... myself"

"You lose fifty pounds.  Yes."

"No, I really don't think so.  That's a bit much"

"Yes.  Fifty pounds.  Yes.  You big fat girl on first day"

There was a moment of silence as I tried to wrap my mind around what was happening.  He clearly meant it as a compliment.

"Thank you?"  I almost asked.

"You welcome!"  He replied happily "Wow.  Good for you."