On our first date, a man demanded that I lose seven kilograms to “fit in” with him: on our next date, I showed up with a measuring tape to measure him. 😲😢
On our first date, a man demanded that I lose seven kilograms to “fit in” with him: on our next date, I showed up with a measuring tape to measure him.
My first two meetings with Mark were calm and even pleasant. It was a small restaurant, the lighting was soft, and he was courteous: he pulled out my chair, listened attentively, and asked questions. He spoke confidently, a lot—about work, projects, and partners. He was a manager at an international construction company, drove a nice car, dressed expensively, and was clearly used to making an impression.
I was 45 then. I’m not a model and never have been, but I feel good about myself. I go to the gym, try not to eat anything, and take care of myself. I’m 5’7″ tall and wear a size 46. I felt comfortable in my body and, before meeting Mark, I never even considered that there might be anything “wrong” with me.
A conversation I wasn’t expecting happened on our third date, while we were sitting in a coffee shop. He was drinking coffee, I was drinking tea. The conversation was flowing easily until Mark suddenly stopped and looked at me too closely, appraisingly.
“I like you,” he said. “You’re pretty.”
I smiled, thinking he was about to give me a compliment.
“It’s just that I have a lot of important events coming up. Business dinners, receptions, investors. Everything has to look… right.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well,” he hesitated slightly, “a woman next to a man of my caliber should look perfect. You’re good, really. But if you lost a little weight… five or seven kilos, that would be absolutely perfect.”
I was speechless for a second. Then I looked at him more closely. At his shirt, which was clearly too tight. At his stomach, which he automatically sucked in when he stood up. At his chin, which appeared double when he leaned toward the phone.
“So,” I said calmly, “I have to immediately change my body just to be near you?”
“Why are you doing that?” he smiled condescendingly. “I just like order. Perfection. It’s good for you, too.”
I didn’t argue. I said I’d think about it, blamed myself for being tired, and went home. But inside, I felt unpleasant and empty.
I still went on the fourth date. Not because I wanted to, but because I wanted to put everything in its place. Before the meeting, I stopped at the store and bought a regular measuring tape. I put it in my bag and went to the restaurant.
We sat by the window. Mark ordered meat and wine. I’m a salad because I’ve already eaten.
On our first date, a man demanded that I lose seven kilograms to “match” him: on our next date, I showed up with a measuring tape to measure something for him.
“I’m glad you listened,” he said, looking pleased. “A woman should complement a man.”
“I agree,” I nodded. “Matching is important in a couple.”
He tensed.
“What do you mean?”
I took a measuring tape out of my bag and placed it on the table. Mark looked at it as if I’d pulled out a knife.
“What is this?”
“A very simple tool. Please stand up. I need to measure something.”
I described what I did next in the first comment 👇👇
“Are you serious? There are people here.”
“It’s fine, we have our own table. Stand up.” You’re a confident man.
He stood up reluctantly.
“Raise your arms.”
I calmly wrapped the tape around his waist. I glanced at the numbers.
“One hundred and one centimeters, Mark.”
“So what?” He tried to suck in his stomach.
“Because,” I said, “according to medical standards for men, anything over ninety-four is a health risk.”
I removed the tape and looked him in the eyes.
“If we’re talking about standards and status, they should be mutual. It’s important to me that the man next to me is healthy, active, and takes care of himself. To match my standard of living, you need to lose at least ten centimeters.”
There was a profound silence. His face first flushed, then turned pale.
“Do you even understand what you’re saying?” he hissed. “I’m a man. I earn money.”
“And I’m a woman,” I replied. “And I earn money too.” But at the same time, I don’t allow myself to dictate to my partner what he should be like if I’m far from ideal myself.
He started saying I was rude, that with such a personality I’d end up alone, that I didn’t understand anything about life.
I called the waiter over and paid only for my order.
“You can keep the ribbon,” I said, standing up. “It’s useful. When you’re ready to meet the standards you set for others, you don’t have to call.”
I left the restaurant with a light feeling. As if I’d gotten rid not of extra pounds, but of other people’s expectations, arrogance, and imposed complexes.
