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"  Anna, 26, marketing manager, Atlanta  SUNDAY 7:40 p.m., restaurant: Having drinks with a friend and lamenting my dating drought. She says she has a guy for me\u2014he&amp;#039;s adorable, mysterious, and a doctor. She calls him to set it up. 11 p.m., bed: I Google him when I get home, and he looks totally cute in an Anderson Cooper kind of way. I lie in bed wondering if he&amp;#039;ll be The One.  MONDAY 12:15 p.m., mall: Buy a new top for the date, since I decided that the 20 I own won&amp;#039;t work. Get something subtle and sophisticated. Love the deep neckline.  TUESDAY 6:30 p.m., couch: He calls. After 30 seconds, he asks why, if I&amp;#039;m as wonderful as my friend claims, am I still single? I&amp;#039;m taken aback, but coolly reply that I&amp;#039;m just between guys. He says he wants to meet tonight but can only spare an hour. I&amp;#039;m in. 6:31 p.m., bathroom: Getting ready, I kick myself for agreeing to go out with him the same day that we spoke. I change bras three times.  7:10 p.m., restaurant: He&amp;#039;s late. I feel like an idiot.  7:15 p.m.: He arrives at last. He doesn&amp;#039;t have much to say\u2014doesn&amp;#039;t watch TV, see movies, or read popular fiction. He says he&amp;#039;s about to go to Boston, so I tell him a story about my recent trip there: I was getting into a cab at the airport when the back of my jeans ripped. The rest of the ride I worried that I&amp;#039;d flash my ass cheek to all of downtown when I got out of the car.  7:33 p.m.: He asks, point-blank, if my jeans ripped because I was fat. Stunned, I reply, &amp;quot;I&amp;#039;ve always been a size 2.&amp;quot; He nods\u2014but is that skepticism in his eyes? What the...? I stop drinking my Peroni and quickly change the subject. I wonder when I can tactfully end this date.  8:10 p.m., outside the restaurant: It&amp;#039;s over, thank God. We&amp;#039;re waiting for the valet to get our cars, and he chides me for only taking out $2 for a tip. I explain that it&amp;#039;s a Tuesday in Atlanta, not New Year&amp;#039;s Eve in New York. He announces that he always tips at least $10. I thank him for the drink and run to my car.  WEDNESDAY 12:31 a.m., bed: Going over the date in my head. It&amp;#039;s abundantly clear why he&amp;#039;s single. I begin to question my friend&amp;#039;s judgment and consider how much I should tell her about the date. I pray he doesn&amp;#039;t call again. 8:05 a.m.: I stare at my not-at-all-fat thighs in the mirror. I&amp;#039;m telling her everything. More: Best Real Sex Stories By Real Women "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.marieclaire.com/sex-love/advice/a3275/sex-diary-the-underminer/>