Today I bought some pants. And I am very tall, requiring a 36” inseam which I’m pretty sure doesn’t exist in retail anymore, so I settle for 34”. I’m also very thin, or… at least I thought I was. I remember 3-4 years ago (aka the last time I was in a relationship) I was a trim 29/30 waist in mens. 28 depending on the store. Today I bought pants and I left with a 31.
Okay, okay, not a HUGE difference, but I tried on the 30s and I felt like my gut was spilling over. They felt snug on my hips, and made my legs look fab, but oi. My belly.
Now I’m officially convinced that I’m on the fast track to fatherhood… SANS CHILD! You heard me. Dad bod.
I’m definitely being over-dramatic, but I’m 23 and basically ready to dump all my cute threads for sweatpants and hoodies (the latter of which I bought 3 of today).
And this is where the Romanian Libra comes in. He comes in other varieties—the Chinese Fabio, the African sugar daddy, the Maritime stalker (he started off good!!), the Italian stalker (actual stalker), and the Ukrainian big fat question mark—but the Romanian Libra stands out as my biggest relationship regret so I’ll use him. (Also I’m a Gemini so we were pretty much meant to be until I blew it.)
Anyways, 2 and a half years ago I met a Romanian boy online named Cristian. His picture was plain looking with a touch of scholarly—perfect for me! Not too intimidating but not too boring. Yet when we met in person I could see that his photo was a little gratuitous.
He wasn’t ugly, by any means. But he didn’t really encompass a “type”, if you will. I felt ashamed of myself for thinking of him in such a way, especially when one of the first things he said to me was he was glad I didn’t walk out on him like other guys have after first meeting him. Somehow he caught me there. It’s like there was a switch that flicked on and I had to have him. Normally I cringe when men are self-loathing (y’know, like me) but Cristian was so sincere. He wasn’t looking for pity. He was just happy I gave him a chance and he told me so.
He became increasingly attractive to me as I got to know him. He was older than I, but incredibly inexperienced. He was shy and modest and I tried to be gregarious enough for the both of us. I was playful and eager and innocent. I felt innocent with him and it was so special. It was our first date and it was probably the most memorable first date I’d ever had. I asked him if it would be alright for me to kiss him when he took me back to my place. And it was. And he was awful kisser but he was an amazing kisser. I feel warm just thinking about it.
The next time we hung out I invited him over to my place to watch a movie (no, not Netflix and chill). He was dressed so… drab. And it occurred to me that he was pretty drab on our first date too. And both dates I was dolled up in my tightest jeans and my cutest sweaters! And it wasn’t until today that I really thought of myself as having looked “cute” in clothes. But I was. I was thin and nice clothes fit me so I bought them and I wore them. And now today I look at myself in my size 31s with a gut on the verge and I miss my Romanian Libra so very much. Because with him I was cute, and I was confident. And today I am not.