Bon Bons to Yoga Pants

Chapter 6- Old Fashioned Bradley

Hey. How was your day?

Bradley's message came to my phone, since I was studying at my desk with my computer purposefully turned off to avoid social media. But I couldn't be too disconnected because . . . Bradley.

I glanced at the littered remnants of my post-Health-and-Happiness-Society-meeting snack with shame. Although I'd opted for the healthier option of yogurt tubes and bologna—probiotics and protein, obviously—I still felt ashamed of the food binge. Bitsy would go berserk, no doubt. Probably blow a whistle in my face. Even justifying the mad binge by saying that I hadn't tracked calories for anything else today so why start at nine o'clock didn't make it seem any better.

"Tomorrow," I said in a poor attempt at consoling myself. "The calorie count begins."

Just to prove I meant it, I downloaded the calorie counting app that Bitsy recommended in her pamphlet.

Oh, I finally responded to Bradley in the chat window. Today was just . . . peachy.

Doesn't sound good.

It was fine, just a meeting that didn't go quite the way I wanted. How about you?

Just got home from a date.

My gut clenched. Of course he did! That's what normal people did on a Wednesday, right? I let out a heavy sigh, not certain I wanted to hear the details. But he seemed to enjoy hashing his dates out with me afterwards, like some kind of therapy for PTSD or something.

At least, that's what I always needed after dates. Okay, I'd only been on two dates, and both had been horrible experiences. I swallowed my pride. If Bradley wanted to talk about his date, that was fine with me. I'd talk to him about almost anything.

Almost. I wasn't about to dive into a conversation about how difficult it was to find comfortable jeans in my size these days.

How did it go? I asked.

He took his time responding. Probably fielding off future dates or saving a kitten.

Nothing magical with this date. There rarely is anymore. :(

A smile crept across my face. He was so cute sometimes! Just when I started to get annoyed, he always said something so adorable I could have vomited rainbows.

And you're expecting magic? I asked.

Definitely.

I sighed. I couldn't help it. I was just girly enough to still believe in the ridiculous Cinderella dreams of my childhood. The kind where Prince Charming rode in on a white horse, where the dress always fit, and the hair curled in messy perfection. Never mind that I'd never fit in a glass slipper. I couldn't even buy boots to fit over my calves.

That's a rare trait to find in a guy. I unwittingly fell into daydreams of Bradley riding up on his powerful stallion, his hair ruffled by the wind, strong arms held out, waiting for me to . . .

Startled from my reverie by the obnoxious chime that meant he'd responded, I jumped and my phone clattered to the floor. "I've reached a new level of pathetic," I mumbled, straightening my skewed glasses while scrambling to hold the phone upright again.

I get that about a lot of things, he said. I'm too old fashioned.

My eyebrows rose with interest. Oh? I asked. What other things? Do tell.

It's really not that interesting.

I'd be the better judge of that.

My heart beat in time with the cursor. He seemed to be typing forever before the response came.