Why Aren't The Men Eating?

And why won't they let me eat?

When I was 23, I dated a 30-year-old man that I dubbed, “Crazy Steve.” He had a car and every time he parked it, would crash into the cars ahead of and behind him. Then he’d maniacally laugh about it. If we were in a store browsing, he’d randomly pick me up and throw me over his shoulder, causing a scene and leaving me scrambling to get down. And once, when we were driving from Brooklyn to Queens, we stopped for gas and I asked him to pick me up a bag of Doritos when he went inside to pay.

When he came back to the car he was empty-handed.

“They didn’t have any,” he said.

“This is America,” I said back. “You can’t enter a single gas station in the whole country without spotting a bag of Doritos.”

He smiled his evil, Crazy Steve smile.

“Is your mom fat?” he said next, out of nowhere.

I realized then that he didn’t get me Doritos because he didn’t want me eating Doritos. Never mind that I was 23, 5’9, and hovering around 125 pounds. The combination of me being absolutely broke paired with my lightning-fast metabolism contributed to me being, essentially, a bag of skin and bones. But this man, who was seven years older than me, was worried about me getting fat.

…

Two years ago, I got my heart absolutely stomped on and ripped to shreds by a guy from Massachusetts I fell hard and fast for. Because we spent most of the time getting to know each other over the phone, I hadn’t witnessed his eating habits up close until I stayed with him at his house near Worcester.

Before a three-hour soccer game, he refused to have anything for breakfast. He said it helped him play better, while I, still wiping the sleep from my eyes, said I wouldn’t be able to make it through his game without a tall black coffee and at least a piece of toast or something. He begrudgingly made me something.

On one of our last dinner dates together, he spotted a dessert item on the menu he wanted to try. I personally hate dessert, sweets, and sugar in all forms, so I told him to go for it, but that I wouldn’t be having any.

When the dish came, instead of enjoying it, he got irritated with me. “It’s so annoying that you’re not having any of this,” he said without looking up. “I don’t want to eat it all.” He stabbed his spoon into it a few times before giving up and pushing it away from him. “I shouldn’t keep eating,” he said.