‘We’ll have to get you out there, once we’re out of the warehouse!’ he eventually says, with so much eagerness that I agree to it. He seems sound, just not what I need. Maybe when we can socialise without the pretence that I’m interested in him romantically, I can enjoy him more.
I’ve not surfed before, but I do have the kind of core strength and stability that I know helps. Regularly lifting Mum has given me way more muscle strength than people expect when they see me, because I’m fat, basically. People think fat people are all lazy food guzzlers with no discipline yadda yadda; all the stereotypes the world tells them we are.
I love foodandI could probably out-bench-press half the men in this warehouse.
When I started working from home I missed the hustle and bustle of running round a kitchen, so I turned that energy towards becoming the strongest I could be. It’s fallen off a bit, for multiple reasons, but the muscle memory is there.
Those perceptions and stereotypes are on my mind while I’m here, as you might expect. Like how they picture me, even though I’m not actually here to romance any of them. It’s insidious really, diet culture and fatphobia and how easy it is to internalise all that. You can’t always put it down, even when you logically reject it. It probably doesn’t help I’m deeply aware of how straight-sized, slightly chubby women are treated on reality television, never mind fat women. I think I might be the first actually fat woman onWedded Bliss. I think the show was a little worried about casting a fat woman – they made me talk it through with their team psychologists beforehand, but I suspect that was optics, feigned due diligence. After all, the psych teams are so often the ones who orchestrate storylinesand breakdowns. Whatever I said must have been enough of the right thing, at least.
And even with all that anticipation, I wasn’t expecting my first date to ask me if I liked to be up on someone’s shoulders at festivals – a not at all subtle attempt to work out my body type.
Nice try, fucko!
I make a note in my diary to warn the others off Daniel the fatphobic tit. I hope no one gives him a second date, but then, you never know what other people think is a normal attitude to your partner’s body. I’m incensed on behalf of all women who might come across him. I hope he gets a bad edit.
Marriage is supposed to be ‘in sickness and in health’ and I can categorically guess he’s not interested in the first half. I’ve heard enough stories about men leaving their wives when they get sick.
Patriarchy’s standards for women’s bodies gross me out. Dates get to see each other on date three, and I wonder if this season will suffer the same issue as the regular American ones – the men don’t come back for date four if they don’t think you’re absolutely perfect.
So, date one was a total mess.
My second date was equally nightmarish and kept going on and on about what an alpha he is. A real man’s man who wants a little woman to be at home. I’ve been online long enough to get adverts for ‘how to be an alpha’ courses that show you how to be a True Man™ and I have been tempted to take one for a laugh. The most alpha person being a tall hot lesbian sounds like the start of a good anecdote. Anyway, I put this guy, Jackson, on my shit list with Daniel. With luck, he’ll walk out of here alone, right into the nearest well.
Prospective fiancé number three, Ethan, was resolutely fine but kept asking me if I was interested in CrossFit, which, no, respectfully I’d rather die. I’m not convinced that he isn’t just here on a recruitment drive.
I’ve never been gladder to be a lesbian.
We broke for lunch after date three, and I really wanted to ask Carys how she was getting on, but I got dragged into a conversation with the Hannahs about their dates, and felt it was important I paid attention in case any of them had a glimmer of interest in either of the dirtbag two (unfortunately yes). I barely had time to inhale the boxed salads production brought for us.
I guess this is my life now.
‘So, when you look through to the future, like, how do you see your family?’ Cobey asks me.
‘I see marriage obviously, and children,’ I say honestly.
Despite my cynicism, I’ve always assumed I’d get married. Just to another woman. We had to fight for that right, and I want it for myself.
And I like the idea of having a two-parent household, at minimum. I love my mum, but it’s only us, and we’re both falling apart. There’s no one else to take up the slack.
Obviously, Mum is in that setup too, but I’m not comfortable talking about her with just anyone. Plus, I’m pretty certain my uterus would be classified as a hostile environment, which is another block.
‘What about you?’ I ask, trying to forget my real life for a moment.
‘Oh yah, I love kids. Working with kids is so nice, but I want to have kids at home too.’ I love the way he says this like kids are the same as takeaway versus frozen pizza. ‘I’m not bothered about whether that’s my own kids or step-kids or me and my partner adopt. I’m chill.’
The second part catches me off guard, because so many men on these shows seem to get obsessed with their genetic legacy, or whatever mad term they’ve come up with for it now.
‘That’s lovely, Cobey.’ I make a new page for Nice Men andput Cobey at the top of it. Congratulations, Cobey, you are officially the only man I’d vaguely consider marriage material. ‘And if this all ends up with us married to different people, I’ll be sure to bring my children to your surf school.’
I don’t think I’m letting him down, because we both know the vibe isn’t quite there. Still, it’s nice to hear him enthusiastically reply, ‘You better!’
We’ve still got time to kill, so Cobey tells me a bit more about his family – who sound like a horde of beautiful sun-kissed blondes who love the tradition of a Sunday dinner after a long morning on the beach running with their many, many dogs. He’ll be a nice husband for someone here, I’m sure of it.
I reckon Carys would like him. They have a similar sweetness, and I think she needs an enthusiastic Labrador man to meet her where she’s at. Maybe then she’ll loosen up a little.
This morning, she was so tense. I thought she was going to cry when that glass of juice launched itself. I get being nervous, but it’s more than that. When I can get her to relax, to talk to me, she’s a different person.
I hope her dates are going better than mine. It would be nice for her to find a good man to fall in love with, even if I’d be a few percentages gutted about it. At least this protectiveness is a safer feeling than attraction. Unfortunately, I’m also still into her, but that’ll go with time. I’ll get over it.
