Carrie gets pitched a dating foul ball.
- Carrie Seim, BettyConfidential.com
Dating Foul Ball …
He called me fat!
Last week I spent many, many, many hours watching baseball with a certain boy. Even though my comprehension of ESPN programming is on par with my comprehension of Telemundo programming, I loved every second.
This is always the way at the beginning of a relationship, isn’t it? Doing anything together seems romantic. “Hey Carrie, want to clean gutters and work on tax returns? Just the two of us?” Swoon!
To be fair, the gentleman in question has taken me to world-class dinners and black-tie events, so his invitation to come over for an evening of bottled beer and baseball in our sweatpants was a refreshing change of pace. Anyone who can polish off a night of opera with some Chicken McNuggets is aces in my book.
Read I’m a Skinny b---- -- and Proud of It
Everything was going swell. I curled up next to him on the couch. His team scored a run. He rubbed my feet. I poured him beer. He gamely endeavored to enlighten me on the ground rule triple as I stared into the middle distance.
That’s when – for some unearthly reason – he reached over and pinched a bit of fleshy skin on my side. He then spoke those three little words NO MAN SHOULD EVER UTTER: “What is this?”
Foul ball!!!
He looked over to me with a huge grin. It quickly faded to a “holy crap, I just screwed up big time” look of terror.
I ran to the bathroom, flinging the door behind me, sobbing in the sink. To add insult to injury – the man COULD NOT UNDERSTAND why I was upset. He futilely repeated the same sentence. “It was a joke… it was a joke…it was a – Carrie, please don’t slam the door on my hand – joke.”
Through a crack in the door, he pleaded with me, saying I was so thin I couldn’t possibly be offended. (For the record, I exercise every day and make an effort to eat healthy foods … except when chocolate is involved.)
I am thin. But you know what, buddy? Doesn’t matter! There are a handful of things you are never, ever, ever allowed to say to women. I don’t care what she weighs or how she looks – you do not get to say, hint, infer or think about criticizing her body. Especially, if you think it was “just a joke.”
IT IS NEVER A JOKE.
I’m not sure what made me more furious – that he’d said it, or that he couldn’t understand why I was so upset. Why can’t life come with instant replay and a cast of romantic commentators? I was dying to show him in slow mo detail just how far outside the emotional strike zone his pitch had landed. (Are you impressed with my sports metaphors? Well, thank you, I try.)
I know, I know. I’m a confident woman who shouldn’t need a man to validate her or her body. I may have even maturely proclaimed, during our argument, that “lots of men would love to have a night with this hot body; maybe I should go watch baseball with them.” I’ll admit, we were both throwing curves.
Rational me knew he probably was joking. Rational me guessed he was utterly clueless about collateral damage his remark would cause. Rational me wanted to forgive him and teach him.
Irrational me wanted to ban him from the game for life.
After many tears and many apologies, we resumed play. And I finally understood what he was trying to teach me about the ground rule triple: If a fielder throws his glove at a fair ball, the batter gets three bases.
I’m planning to enjoy my free three bases somewhere tropical …
Carrie Seim, Betty’s L.A. Correspondent, is a writer and comedian keeping it real in L.A., New York and @ www.carrieseim.com.
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