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 Bitch -- 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.