Doing it for the Plot

Chapter 1

‘Oh … you’re gonna order dessert as well? Aren’t you full?’

I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prick up instantly as I slowly glanced over the dessert menu and laid eyes upon my date who was sitting across from me at the table.

He had a confused look on his face as he glanced at me up and down, eyes full of judgement and – if I wasn’t mistaken – slight disgust. This was my second date with Calvin and my sixth date this month overall; we’d matched on a dating app the week prior and as a part of my New Year’s goals (framing them as ‘resolutions’ just sounded way too formal) to ‘say yes’ to almost everything and date as much as possible this year, because I wanted – nay, needed – to get laid; and if that meant having to sort through some questionable prospects just to make it happen, so be it.

I moved the menu out of the way, trying as much as possible to keep my cool while I looked him up and down. At some point I just knew it would boil down to my appearance; it always did.

‘Why wouldn’t I order a dessert? I’ve heard great things about their matcha cheesecake on TikTok and wanted to try it out. What’s the problem?’

‘It’s just … the main was quite big, innit, and I’m absolutely stuffed, so I just – ya’know – thought you’d be full too.

’ Calvin flinched uncomfortably in his seat, his words slipping out before he could stop them.

The discomfort on his face was unmistakable – but I knew he meant every word. I knew this scenario all too well.

He was the third man that I’d dated to inadvertently mention my weight/appetite this year, and we were only twenty days into January.

Just so you know, he had swiped left on me first. He knew what I looked like: I’d uploaded nothing but full-length photos on my dating profile, alongside a disclaimer that read ‘For clarity, I AM plus size so pls keep that in mind before you swipe left’ right at the top of the profile; something I didn’t feel I needed to add, but a necessary evil nonetheless.

I had turned up to the date feeling and looking somewhat confident; I was wearing a short, brown minidress with white polka dots and a deep plunge neckline so the girls could breathe, complete with a pair of opaque tights and my black Maison Margiela Tabi ankle boots that I’d had to put in several hours overtime at work to be able to save up to afford, much to the chagrin of my mum, who preferred to call them my ‘camel-toe shoes’.

By all intents and purposes, I think I looked pretty damn good.

Calvin was thirty-six years old and a secondary school teacher.

His profile on the app was cute and funny, more or less: ‘I’m here because I’m too lazy to find a soulmate, and my mum said that I’m getting old’.

And he was pretty handsome too; big, dark-brown doe eyes that were hidden behind a pair of thick, Malcolm X-esque glasses, with a chiselled jawline that would have put Prince to shame, may he rest in peace.

Thick, pouty lips, and a mass of gorgeous dreadlocks that had been braided down into neat cornrows.

All I had initially wanted to do was take him back to mine and let him have his way with me and, up until the last ten minutes, it looked as if the evening was due to end that way, but alas the universe had once again conspired to prevent me from getting my back blown out.

I glanced down at the menu, resisting the urge to snap back.

Calvin’s subtle jab about my alleged overeating made it painfully clear he had some issue with my weight.

Honestly, if that was the case, he should have addressed it on our first date – though, to be fair, a date at the movies didn’t leave much room for deep conversations.

Instead, I’d gone through the effort of getting ready and booking an Uber to this ridiculously fancy restaurant, only to face the likelihood of being rejected yet again. Annoying didn’t even begin to cover it.

‘Me? Full?’ I replied slowly, hoping to lighten the mood despite the brewing annoyance I was feeling internally.

‘Oh, no, no, my friend, that was just my starter and main stomach. The dessert stomach is a whole different department!’ I laughed, hoping it would in some way lighten the mood so that we would wrap this up and I could allow him to take me home and ravish me.

At this stage in my dating life, I couldn’t even be fussed about establishing a genuine connection.

Now, don’t get me wrong, in a perfect world that would have been ideal, but with the quality of men floating about these days, I was fully allowing my raging libido to take the lead in order to secure a quick shag and a dopamine boost. Sad times, really.

Dearest reader, not only did the mood not lighten, it dampened, significantly so.

Calvin placed his menu on the table and stared at me as I laughed.

After what felt like the longest thirty seconds in the world, he cleared his throat and then, without missing a beat, proceeded to inform me of the benefits of healthy eating, and how I should perhaps look into intermittent fasting for faster weight-loss results?

‘All I’m saying,’ he continued on as I stared at him in disbelief, ‘is that making small changes like cutting out desserts and including more protein in your diet can help with—’ he looked at me with what looked like a hint of embarrassment in his eyes ‘—your issue.’

I forced an internal sigh. Was this really where I had arrived at with dating? How had it gotten so bad and how had I gotten it so wrong, so many times? All of a sudden, it seemed as if London had developed an influx of self-qualified nutritionists overnight.

I scoffed as I made eyes at the waiter to grab his attention so I could get the bill. My date with Joe Wicks was going nowhere, and all I wanted was to go home and cuddle up with Toby, my three-year-old Russian Blue cat.

‘My “issue”? Heh … I see.’ I scoffed, flashing a kilowatt smile and leaning back into my chair, surveying him. He really thought he was the prize here. The delusions of men shall never cease, it seemed. If only he had kept his mouth shut; I wasn’t here for a lecture!

I picked up my half of the bill and proceeded to put on my coat while simultaneously trying to order an Uber home. So far, this dating-slash-trying to have a somewhat satisfactory sex life thing was turning out to be a huge flop. No amount of dick was worth this kind of humiliation.

‘Not in a rude way or anything,’ he said, trying to backtrack upon realising he’d fucked up. ‘I’m just big on health and stuff, so I want to make sure that any future partner also takes health into account.’

I actually couldn’t be arsed. As if one can judge someone’s health based on their body type?

‘Calvin,’ I announced breathlessly as I struggled to put my coat on, ‘I’m going to have to love you and leave you, I think.

You knew what I looked like when you swiped on me, and when we met up at the cinema on the first date.

You had no problem with my weight when you were grabbing on my thighs back then, funnily enough.

Frankly, I just wanted to see if we could fuck but I can see there’s no chance of that so—’ I dramatically threw my scarf around my neck with a fierce flounce as I uttered my final line ‘—until next time, if there ever is one, I bid you adieu.’

‘Ah, Cassie, calm down man, I wasn’t trying to take the piss, I …’ Calvin retorted before I held my hand out to shush him. I needed my dramatic exit and I was going to get it by any means necessary. ‘Aht aht. Calvin, no more needs to be said. You’re good. Take care, OK?’

And with that, I strutted out of the restaurant, head held high and hips swinging with a dramatic, sensual flair. It was an exit for the ages! It wasn’t until I got outside that I realised something was missing.

I’d left my bag at the table.

I ran back in, hiding my face quickly enough just to see Calvin’s stupid face break into a smirk. I grabbed my bag in a flurry and hot-footed it out of the restaurant again, post haste.

So much for a dramatic exit.

Twenty-five minutes later, I was back home, and switched on my favourite movie, Pretty Woman, to have it playing on the TV for some background noise as I wiped off my make-up and mentally unpacked yet another disastrous date.

(Was it me? Am I the drama?) Just as I was spiralling into self-reflection, my phone buzzed.

It was Mum, probably checking in to hear how the date went.

Back when she was single, we had this tradition: weekly catch-ups to debrief about our dating adventures.

My parents had gotten a divorce when me and my younger brother Steven were teenagers.

Frankly, it was the best decision my mum could have made (albeit the worst timing ever as they started their divorce proceedings slap bang in the middle of my GCSEs, but hey-ho) as we were tired of the daily arguments and disagreements in the house.

Ever since the divorce was finalised, my dad had been on a steadfast mission to get my mum back despite her being outrageously happy in a relationship with her boyfriend Femi – much to her disgust and mine and my brother’s occasional entertainment.

I put my phone on speaker as I slabbed on my Kate Somerville Goat Milk cleanser and gently massaged it into my skin as it disintegrated a night’s wasted make-up. I tried to contain my anger as I recalled the events of the evening.