Matt Forney
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An Ode to the Ex-Girlfriend Who Got Fat

This is a guest post by Kid Strangelove. Kid originally published this article at his own blog on July 20, 2015, but he deleted the site a while ago so he could focus on other projects. He asked me if I’d be willing to re-post some of his articles on my blog and I said yes.

It’s been over a year since I have seen her, maybe two years at this point. But a considerable amount of time has passed.

She always stood out in my eyes: she was smart, inquisitive, nerdy, open-minded and caring, yet had enough typical modern girl traits to balance those out almost instantly. Yet because of this balance, my opinion of her was always neutral. She was the only one that stole my heart, the only one that made me question the nature of game, the only one who I would consider to be close to “the one.” She met my parents, we took trips together; yeah, it was serious.

I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about her since we broke up. Maybe, just maybe, we were the kind of couple who were right for each other, but we just met at the wrong time. Heck, we were at least several years overdue for some “I haven’t seen you in ages so lets make this deep and emotional” sex.

But then I saw her… and she had gotten fat. And a billion thoughts rushed into my head.

“Would not bang, so let’s keep it friendly” was the main one; after all, I was genuinely curious what she was up to. She seemed very happy. Her travels hd taken her all over the world, her research studies were going incredibly well (she’s very book smart), everything in her life seemed to be playing out perfectly, and I was truly happy for her.

But she was fat.

It was hard to wrap my head around it. How I could immediately feel a complete lack of sexual attraction to a woman whom I declared my love for years earlier? And she was genuinely happy. Why could I not share her happiness? Why could I not acknowledge her to the world simply because of her weight gain? Was I blinded by her appearance before? Am I blinded by her appearance now? That was way more introspection than I was expecting.

If we had stayed together, would she have been this fat now? Would I have been this fat? Would I ever have discovered CrossFit and the joy of pushing my body to its limits? Would I have also been comfortably fat with her? Would I be miserable?

Would I use my attraction to her mind and personality to overpower my eventual lack of attraction to her body? Would I have any attraction to her mind? Was leaving me one of the catalysts to her finding herself and becoming a better person? If we’d stayed together, would we be happy? Fat and happy? Fat and miserable? Fit and miserable?

What if scenarios are fun. Marvel Comics made an entire industry out of it. Let’s face it: it would be cool to see what would happen if the Venom Suit bonded with the Punisher, or if Gwen Stacy had lived.

But reality is different. Reality is now. And reality made me look at a girl I loved, a girl I absolutely respect, and find her one hunded percent unattractive because of her weight.

Does that make me an asshole? Does that make me human? Does that make me immature? After all, guys all around me are settling for mediocre-looking women with mediocre personalities all the time. What do we really want? What are we willing to sacrifice? Are we afraid of being alone? Or is “kinda good enough” good enough for most of us?

The answer to these questions is a boring, resounding maybe.

You did it again. You made me think. You made me question my beliefs, long after I’d thought you lost that power. Props to you.

Maybe now I can finally close the book on you.

And knowing you, you will come back with the same CrossFit addiction that I have, and force me to question everything. Again.

Guess we have to wait and see.

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