In my opinion, there are only two people who can tell you that you’re fat and need to lose weight: a doctor and my mom.
NOT someone you’ve been on two dates with.
Especially if that person doesn’t exactly look like David effing Beckham.
But Matt (see: NOT David Beckham) thought it was his place — his duty — to tell my friend Allison on their second date that she needs to work out because it’s bathing suit season.
His phrasing was infuriating, like he was some sort of expert in the habits of females who live near the beach.
Which is why he’s single.
Matt and Allison were both from up north but now live on the South Carolina coast, something they chatted about when they first met, along with their mutual love for Big East basketball (whatever that is.)
After a flirty night and several phone calls/texts, they decided to go on a date at the bowling alley.
Allison — who would not be considered fat by a doctor or my mom — said from the beginning of the date she was put off by Matt’s competitive nature, like how he insisted that she break 100 (“seriously dude, who cares,” she recalls) and he kept coaching her on her bowling technique.
When they finally took a break, Allison started a perfectly normal conversation saying she’s excited about daylight savings time and getting outside more often.
That’s when Matt “casually” asked, “do you work out?”
Allison, looking down at her 120-pound frame, said “Well, I fell off the bandwagon over Christmas, but, yea, I like to work out.”
She laughed uncomfortably.
Matt didn’t laugh.
He looked at her point blank and said, “You know, it’s not like the north where people only work out for a week before hitting the beach. Girls here work out for six months in preparation for beach season.”
He then turned his head away from looking at her.
Allison swallowed, and after a minute of awkward silence, said that she was excited about running after work now that it was light out. Just to save face, the poor thing.
Matt was good; not only was he a liar about when exactly girls “here” prepare for beach season, but he was able to cleverly use the fact that she’s from the north against her to make her feel like she had to abide by this exercise regimen.
After all, Allison didn’t want to be red-flagged on the beach and labeled a “Northerner” based on her body mass index, now did she?
(I believe this is an old propaganda technique called “bandwagon appeal” that taps into people’s desire to be popular and well-liked. “All the girls here work out six months before beach season….” Pshhh. Don’t fall for it, ladies. It’s the same technique they use to sell kids Corn Pops.)
After the bowling date, in which Matt unsuccessfully tried to kiss her goodnight, Allison went home and continued her life, not modifying her workout routine at all.
Except for one thing: No more bowling.