Somehow, despite the presence of the panther, have attracted the attentions of a new chap. He’s 39, don’t know too much about him yet but he’s been sending messages that are well-written and amusing and I’ve been able to reply to them and now he’s suggested meeting.
“You can’t possibly meet him, you’re too fat,” the panther says as he rests his head in my lap. “You haven’t lost any of the weight you put on during your cancer treatment. You look disgusting.”
“I know, but I have to meet men for my blog. Otherwise there isn’t anything to write about,” I tell him.
“Why are you still so fat though?” The panther says, poking my tummy with a huge paw. “What’s the point of all that training if you’re still fat?”
“Presumably eventually it will work?” I say. “I keep being ill. It’s not my fault.”
“It is your fault,” the panther says. “It’s a disgrace. I don’t know how you can bear to leave the house.”
He shakes his huge head and shifts on the sofa. He starts grooming himself, rasping his fur with his huge pink tongue.
“I have to leave the house, however I feel,” I say, but the panther isn’t listening: he’s absorbed in cleaning himself.
The event went well yesterday, despite the panther’s presence. Was able to enjoy myself. Have to keep going with the dating too. Somehow just have to keep going…