You're Not One of Those Carb-Free Fags Who Won't Eat Bread...

...but after your laparoscopic surgery to repair your Hurtful Hernia, you are absolutely shocked at the havoc it has caused on your abs. Hell, during the brief period you were lying on the operating table you somehow went from Gay Fat to Circus Fat (apparently skipping Straight Fat altogether). What the hell did Dr. Mary-Ann-Not-Ginger do while she was mucking around inside the crevices of your belly button? Did she accidentally misplace her Pocketbook in your abdomen? Regardless, you can absolutely forget about ever wearing your Skinny Jeans again since your Fat Jeans are actually, get this, too fucking tight! Not to mention the fact that you haven't eaten in days! Meanwhile, it's not only your belly that's expanded into Straight Fat territory; but sometimes bigger is better. The Silver Lining of this whole humiliating experience turns out to be that your balls have actually doubled in size. And honey, they weren't that small to begin with. However, between your Second Trimester-Sized Belly and the Square Patch of hair that was mysteriously shaved away from your Treasure Trail, it really ain't so pretty down there anymore. But you desperately want to look pretty tonight because you have a date with Blonde Beard at a restaurant in your neighborhood with the unfortunate name of, get this, Bread.

You limp down the six flights of your Home-Sweet-Hovel a bit early so you can go swing by The Bowery Ballroom to buy tickets for the Calvin Harris show, and then you slowly hobble your way over to Bread on Spring Street. You'd really like to pick up the pace in order to burn some extra calories, but, thanks to your gargantuan balls, it's a bit hard to move at a reasonable pace on a Manhattan sidewalk. Somehow you actually get to the restaurant on time even though Old Ladies with Walkers are actually lapping you. Ever prompt, Blonde Beard is there waiting for you outside of the restaurant and he hands you a cute little Get Well present which instantly warms your heart, until you realize that it is actually a Get Fat present full of *gasp* cookies. You attempt to smile and thank him for his thoughtlessness (oops, you meant to say thoughtfulness), but it's difficult for any actual expressions to squeeze past the fleshy folds of skin that used to resemble your face. You are really happy to finally see your boy for the first time in three days since your belly-button went under the laparoscopic robotic knife. You were kind of wishing that he'd swing by on his lunch hour, or pop in after his night class, just to say hi. Perhaps to check up on you. But you realize he's been super busy.

You end up ordering a Green Salad Appetizer and a Salmon with Root Vegetables Entrée even though you really should be ordering Liposuction with a Side of Anorexia-Nervosa. Since you're still not feeling quite like your normal self, you decide to order a glass of red wine, because, let's face it, your normal self is rarely this sober! The wine hits the spot and the salmon is nice until Blonde Beard offers you a ravioli from his plate. After the carb-tastic pasta goodness, your salmon simply sucks ass. And not in that OMG, rimming kind of way. But the conversation is nice. Nothing earth shattering, just a Post-Op Catch-Up. You talk a lot about Blonde Beard's upcoming Grad School projects which you try to seem interested in, even though you're feeling a bit uncomfortable and crabby. You're slightly surprised that Blonde Beard doesn't ask you much about the operation, nor about your recovery, but, between his surgical squeamishness and the fact that you've chatted on the phone the last two evenings, you wind up letting it go.

After three glasses of wine you are feeling so much better that cheap old you actually picks up the check! However, when you stand up and gravity pulls your expansive belly downward, you instantly feel extremely full. You assume that since everything is so swollen down there, that there's not much room left over for a tiny little salmon to swim downstream in your previously-herniated digestive system. Anyway. When you hit the street, Blonde Beard wants to wander around SoHo and look for a new Spring Jacket since it's still relatively early. Even though you're feeling much too Circus Fat to be shopping for anything that doesn't involve orthopedic flip-flops, for some reason you agree to tag along as long as Blonde Beard doesn't mind walking at your snail's pace. You hit Bloomingdale's, H&M and Uniqlo, but after those three pit-stops you find yourself as winded as a One-Lunged John Goodman on a Stairmaster. After that, Blonde Beard walks you home.

As you unlock the vestibule door to your Home-Sweet-Hovel, Blonde Beard makes a lame crack about not believing that your apartment actually existed. "What are you talking about?" you ask, and he explains that you've never invited him over before. You're annoyed because you have definitely invited him over several times. In fact, you've thought it was rather odd that the boy you've been seeing over the past (almost) three months has shown zero interest in seeing the poverty stricken conditions that you live under. You just assumed that Blonde Beard preferred hanging out in his neighborhood and sleeping in his own uncomfortable bed, but now that his Jealous Roommate has banished you from ever visiting their apartment again, he's decided to slum it over at your place. Although you actually find his wise crack to be a big deal, you decide to not make a big deal about it and instead concentrate on your endless ascension up the six flights of stairs.

You introduce Blonde Beard to your Hobosexual Roommate and they both grunt an unintelligible greeting to each other, which seems kind of strange to you. Even though Blonde Beard's Jealous Roommate hates your guts (which was inevitable since he's obviously in love with Blonde Beard), you definitely went out of your way to be polite and friendly to him since, after all, you were a guest in his overly renovated home. Obviously Blonde Beard doesn't seem to care to give The Hobosexual the same kind of investment. Anyway. Eventually you excuse yourself into your bedroom and ease yourself into the least painful Post-Op position where you can still enjoy making out with your hairy-faced boy. As usual you get lost in his eyes, and then, yadda-yadda-yadda, you are amazed at how far your spunk can shoot even though you feel like you've practically been neutered. Thank God for Laparoscopic Silver Linings!

And that's when Blonde Beard gets out of bed and starts getting dressed. Although sleeping is still extremely difficult, and you were wondering about how exactly you were going to share a bed with him, you are kind of shocked when spending the night together isn't even going to be an uncomfortable option. "It's after midnight," you inform him. "Are you really going home now?" Blonde Beard explains that he has tons of work to do on a school project which is due next week, and he wants to be done before his Birthday on Sunday so he can actually have a few cocktails and enjoy his big day. All of this is, of course, true, but you begin to wonder where his head is really. All along you've felt like you were on the same page, but something seems to have shifted recently. Perhaps it was the ridiculous fight you had with his Jealous Roommate? Or maybe he's just disgusted by the way you look in your Circus Fat Jeans? But he's got to realize that all of that is just temporary, right? But as his hairy face pops up through his V-Neck sweater, you begin to wonder about what isn't temporary? Suddenly almost everything seems to feel a bit ephemeral. Is it possible to be in a successful relationship with someone who is so fundamentally different than you? Are you getting too old to compromise? Or even worse, is Blonde Beard? You walk him to the front door and kiss him goodbye before you instinctively dive head first into the bag of carbolicious Get Well cookies that Blonde Beard gave you earlier. Except, after eating absolutely all of them, you don't feel any better. At all. Anyway...