For the last five months I have been seeing a guy a couple of times a week. We get along quite well and have spent enough time together that we often go without talking for some time when we’re together. Most of the time, however, we chat quite a bit.
The last time I saw him he pointed something out to me, “Protruding scapula.” “What?” I asked. “You’ve got a protruding scapula. It’s not too bad though. At least you don’t have winged scapulas. A lot of swimmers get those,” he said. “This is exactly why I quit swimming before getting good enough for the Olympics,” I advised him.
After about an hour of me showing him I was capable of quite a bit, despite my protruding scapula, we decided to end things. “I don’t think you really need to come here anymore. I mean, you can if you want, but you’re doing really well,” he informed me. “Are you saying I’m too good for you?” I asked. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am,” he said.
With that, I thanked him for the last five months, told his assistant I would not be needing to keep my next physical therapy appointment, and I walked out the door, anxious to update my dating profile to include ‘protruding scapula.’