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lose it so you don’t have to, full stop. Now get out of here and find a man. The wedding’s getting closer and you sure as hell aren’t going to take Cat or Riyaan as your date. It’s time to take charge, babe.”
    I stare at her. “Have you been talking to my Dad?”
    “No. How is he?”
    “Just as full of advice as you are.” I get lost in thought. “You know, honesty gets me nowhere, so I might as well lie online.”
    “You already lie online,” Sands reminds me.
    “I mean about my weight. I can’t count how many stories I’ve heard where people meet someone from a dating site and they don’t look anything like they made themselves out to be, or their profile photo was evidently taken several trouser sizes ago. So why shouldn’t I do the same in order to make first contact?”
    “And then it blows up in your face when they meet you in person. Yeah, that’s a great plan. Let me know how it works out.”
    I rise from the chair, taking it with me. “I’m taking charge of my life, just like you said,” I say through clenched teeth as I struggle to disengage the chair, which is firmly attached to my butt.
    “Let me help.” Sands gets up just as the chair comes off with a pop and crashes to the floor.
    “No, I can help myself,” I say and hurry out of the office before she can argue.
    •
    It works. Lying works. Lying works because I have a date.
    I stand outside Yummy’s Greek Restaurant awaiting his arrival, my keys jingling a mile a minute. We’d chatted for a couple of weeks online before Wesley, asked me out to dinner. Sure, he came off as a little arrogant, but successful businessmen often do and he is owner of a landscaping company which boasts a fleet of trucks and a dozen employees.
    I wear a new frock, made of black (black is slimming) gauzy fabric which is not clingy and thus does not emphasize my rolls and folds. The short shirred sleeves and empire waist with small bow accent create a Grecian effect. Coupled with gold metallic sandals, I think I look very well and feel more confident than I have in a long time.
    “ShyNSweet?” a voice asks. I look up to find Wesley standing there.
    “RockStarMan83?” I reply, flashing him a smile and stuffing my keys into my purse.
    “That’s me,” he grins in return and looks me over head to toe. I hold my breath. He now knows I lied about my weight but doesn’t show any sign of anger. “Are you hungry? Let’s get this party started,” he adds before I can reply.
    As we enter the restaurant, he holds the door for me. I’m nervous and perspiring and trying not to fidget while we wait for the hostess to get our table ready. Wesley stands with one hand in his pocket jingling change.
    “So how’s your day been?” he asks.
    “Great, just great. Been busy with work.”
    “You got that right.” He smoothes back his close-cropped black hair. He has a small bald spot on the back top of his head, stands about an inch taller than me and has a slight paunch. He opens his mouth to speak again when his cell phone beeps. He pulls it out of his jacket pocket and reads a text, then drops the phone back in the pocket. “Yeah, work has been crazy-busy, clients calling all day long and wanting their lawns done that day. I keep telling them they have to give us at least twenty-four hour’s notice if they won’t keep a regular schedule. They think I’m Superman and can do the impossible and then they expect me to show up with my crews. I mean, come on, I’m the boss. That’s why I get the office. I don’t work in the field anymore. I did my time. It’s like I used to always tell Michelle - that’s my ex-girlfriend - that I’m not available twenty-four/seven. I’m my own man. I have a life. I have plans. Don’t place demands on me.”
    “Sure, you’re right, you deserve a break,” I agree, though I am surprised by his vehemence.
    “Exactly.” He nods, happy for the affirmation. “Michelle could never understand that. Work time is work time. I