“Oh, go ahead, laugh, moron. At least I’m not a drunk. You better drink up. You don’t want beer number eleven getting warm,” I shot back.

I startled myself, but he pissed me off and I snapped.

I couldn’t believe the nerve of him. What an asshole for judging me. What did he even care anyways? He should just stay down there and mind his own sad, drunken business.

I took a sip from my beer and got even angrier when I noticed he kind of had a point. I did order a lot, without even noticing, at least not until Hottie McJerk-Off brought it to my attention. I knew I was hungry, but I wasn’t planning on ordering that much.

My husband Matt was always so quick to call me ‘fat’ or ‘porky’ whenever I’d order anything other than salad. It’s no wonder it stung so quick and deep when that jerk made his comment. There I was thinking I could finally order whatever I wanted without judgement, but clearly not. Turns out all men are judgmental assholes, even the sexy surfer ones.

The three appetizers I ordered came out and I started to shovel them in my mouth. My emotional eating habits had taken over in full force.

My drinking comment clearly struck a nerve with that guy because he was back on his phone and leaving me alone. It wasn’t like me to be mean, but he started it and I was glad to be the one who finished it. I was done letting men boss me around.

If a woman wanted to order three appetizers, why couldn’t she? Men can order whatever the hell they like.

I scooped spinach and artichoke dip onto a chip and closed my eyes, enjoying the flavor. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had it. It was delicious. Before I was done chewing, I reached for a deep fried pickle. It was like each mouthful covered up the negative feelings left over from Matt.

As I polished off the dip, the bartender came around the corner from the kitchen with my fried chicken entree. My face lit up like a kid in a candy store. I felt like a bottomless pit. He placed the food in front of me.

“Looks great. Could I also get another beer?” I said.

He looked at me in disbelief, surprised I was actually making a serious dent on all this food and still had room for another beer. As he stepped away, I shouted to get his attention.

“Actually, make it two beers,” I said with my mouth full of chicken. “One for the judgmental asshole at the end of the bar. He clearly could use it.”

I had no idea why I said that, especially since he was leaving me alone. I hated the guy for suggesting I was a fat pig, but for some reason I didn’t want to stop getting his attention. Call me crazy, I’ll gladly take attention from a hot guy, even if he’s insulting me!

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” the bartender said, clearly not impressed with me. I was being rude, but it was that guy who started it.

For some reason, I kept going.

“Why not? It’s not like he wasn’t about to order one anyway. I want to buy him beer number twelve.”

“Fine,” the bartender said, leaning in closer, “but I won’t tell him what you said. I know he was rude, but you don’t have to stoop to his level. You have no idea what people have been through.”

What the hell did that mean? Been through? He had no idea what I’d been through either.

It was like he lost his charm and sense of humor in a matter of seconds. I watched as he poured the beer for the guy and I quickly fixed my hair and casually adjusted my breasts to make sure they looked their perkiest.

“Now you’re bringing me beer number twelve before I even ask for it?”

I couldn’t hear what the bartender said back, but I saw him point to me. I sat up straight and smiled, ready for the babe to look up. It was a rush, never in my life had I bought a man a drink. This guy was being a jerk, but there was something about him. Maybe he was just having a bad day. I didn’t know what it was, but he was sexy as hell, and intriguing, and I didn’t want him to stop paying attention to me.

He looked at the beer and then at me. My stomach got tense and my nervous smile grew. There was an empty seat next to me and I secretly hoped he would come over to thank me for the beer and have a seat so we could talk. I tucked my hair behind my ear and winked at him.

Oh God. A wink? Who winks?

I got flustered and quickly realized I had no game. I saw him raise a curious eyebrow at me, but then he just looked back at his phone.

What was so interesting on that phone? A woman just bought him a beer and he doesn’t so much as flinch? I know I’m new to the scene but surely things haven’t changed that much. When I was single, if a girl made a move, a guy was supposed to be a gentleman and at least acknowledge it.

I took a mouth full of fried chicken and washed it down with a huge gulp of beer.

I was mortified.

He just flat out ignored my gesture.

I was wrong about him, there wasn’t more to him. He really was just a drunk asshole sitting alone in a bar. The only guy in the place who refused to join in the fun.

I shoveled mouthful after mouthful of food in, hardly taking a moment to breath. I couldn’t even look at him anymore. I just wanted to finish my food and get the hell out of there.

As I finished the last few bites, I saw the bartender coming towards me with the apple crumble and cheesecake I ordered. After the day I was having, I was so ready for it.

And then I noticed that I wasn’t even close to feeling full. I’d eaten enough for three people and was still going. This was the kind of behavior I’d had therapy for as a teenager. I’d gone through a difficult couple of years after my parents divorced and put on a hundred pounds in six months. I got it under control, but the way I was eating tonight reminded me of what an emotionally traumatizing day I was having.

All I wanted was to coat it in sugar and get to bed so it could officially be over.