But will it be fuel-efficient...?

As I've mentioned in a previous post, my new chin is going to be ridiculously expensive and therefore spectacular. My new chin will be hounded by paparazzi and linked romantically to Prince Harry, causing great scandal in Britain.

Photographed by Annie Leibowitz and featured in a PSA ad campaign my chin will single-handedly reverse the effects of global warming, and male pattern baldness. That's how spectacular my new chin ought to be, given some of the costs provided at my most recent appointment with the orthodontist.

He started by showing me x-rays of my jaw, which is apparently so malformed it's a wonder I can chew food. My teeth don't line up, one side of my jaw is higher and one jaw-joint is a completely different shape than the other. The bones in my face look like they came from a mismatched set. I could see how some sort of action may be required.

Next he outlined my options. Since my lower jaw sits too far back, one option could be to move my top teeth back. Cheaper, and no surgery. I was nodding slowly until he said this option may cause my nose to appear larger. Sweet blessed Jesus. On to option two.

Option two is what I was expecting. Braces for two years, surgery after a year and I enter my 23rd awkward stage in a row. He showed me a computer enhanced photo of how my profile will look once the surgery is over and it was fascinating.

My nose, and this may just be wishful thinking, but my nose looked just a smidge...just a teensy bit...smaller. My face looked slightly more...balanced. It wouldn't be so noticeable to everybody else, but I couldn't stop looking at the computer screen.

The doctor thinks I may actually need two surgeries to align my jaw perfectly, which won't be happening. It gets done in one shot or I live on smoothies for the rest of my life. I may still need skin grafts on my gums, but if I have to pay for those then I'm putting it off until the bottom half of my skull falls into my lap through the gaping spaces where my gums used to be. Like I said, my new chin is going to be expensive.

$1200 upfront for the braces. $225 every month afterward for two years. $4000-$5000 on top for that new chin smell. Crikey.

I know I have to go through with it, it's just a matter of when. The doctor advised I may want to consider timing my braces carefully. Will I have wedding photos coming up? A big holiday perhaps? No to both, and my new chin is likely to keep it that way.

Just me and the Oompa-Loompas.

I've been looking pretty good lately. I haven't lost any more weight and I'm hovering in that purgatory between normal sizes and plus sizes which is making shopping for anything a cringe-worthy experience, so I don't have Weightwatchers to thank for my new boost in confidence.

My most favourite moments are when some little girl the size of my right leg knocks on the change room door to make sure I haven't died in there and asks if I need any other sizes. I would love to say yes, but I know perfectly well that the pants I can't close around my ass are the largest size in the store and to ask for anything larger would lead to a very awkward moment. Thank Goddess I'm so tall because if I was any shorter I'd have the shape and consistency of a cream puff pastry.

And yet, three people have stopped me today to tell me how good I'm looking so let's hear it for harmful UV rays! Yes, I've been taking my life into my own hands and tanning. I am naturally rather pale, and by rather pale I mean vampiric, so at first the staff at my tanning salon seemed hesitant to take my money and stick me in a bed for fear of lawsuits and or explosions but I've been surprising everyone.

For the first time ever, I have some colour in my face which has led several people to tell me I'm looking 'well-rested.' In actual fact I haven't been sleeping very well due to lying awake worrying about my chin, my back, my pelvic region, my finances, my parents, my home, my future and whether or not my next door neighbor can hear me pee, as I can hear him pee through the apartment wall between our bathrooms, which is disconcerting.

I can see how people start tanning indoors and then not know when to stop. It's warm and relaxing and for the entire duration of your session you're not expected to do anything but just lie there. This doesn't excuse the women who tan themselves into Chicken McNuggets but I think I'm vain enough to escape that fate.

My only concern so far is the white stripe I've developed down either side of my body, making me look like the world's lightest and largest Oreo cookie. I'm trying to remedy this, and it's reminding me why people say they're "working" on their tans. It is actual work.

My goal in exposing myself to skin cancer is to cover up my inability to lose substantive amounts of weight. Much like in a house, if you're unhappy with the walls, you paint them. I'm painting my rear end, and it's working wonders.

Hit and run.

I'm a cynical optimist. For example, when I go on holiday I pack at least three emergency items for every fun item in my suitcase. One bathing suit equals one package of Imodium, one can of Solarcaine and a defibrillator.

In my dating life, this means I expect nothing good to come out of anybody I meet...but I shave my legs anyway. I expect the worst but am secretly crushed when it happens making me both the first to say, "I told you so!" and "I had no idea that could happen!" at the same time.

This works well for me. I go about triumph and disaster with all bases covered until something so unexpected happens, both the cynic and the optimist in me are awed into mutual silence.

Like on Sunday morning. A new date, same Starbucks near my place. Jay was funny, smart and his picture looked good. We had even spent a few hours on the phone so I was confident the conversation would be easy.

I arrived a little early so I went in and got my standard date drink. Large enough for me to nurse if I'm having a good time, small enough for me to finish quickly should he have bells on his shoes, hit on the coffee barrista or appear riding a unicycle - basically should he demonstrate any of the unfavourable dating characteristics to which I've become so accustomed.

Jay came in while I was waiting for my drink, and I had a hard time recognizing him because I had to mentally add 10 years to the picture he sent me. He squinted his eyes at me but I wasn't entirely sure. I went outside to wait for him on the patio. If it was him he could come find me, and sure enough he did, moments later.

He walked up and introduced himself, and then went back in for his drink. It was a beautiful sunny day and I suddenly felt optimistic. A nice patio, a good drink, some good conversation...it wouldn't be so bad.

And it wouldn't have been so bad had Jay not left through the back exit, never to return. After the first five minutes I felt badly that a massive line up must have gathered spontaneously and he was stuck in it. After 10 minutes I wondered just what in the hell kind of caffeinated concoction he had ordered. After 15 minutes I felt like an idiot.

I waited around for another 10 just in case he was stuck in the bathroom. He wasn't. Bewildered, I made my way home.

I've been stood up before. I've been left waiting when a guy doesn't show up at all, no explanation or apologies. I've been on dates where the guy showed up but it would have been better if he hadn't. This was an altogether new experience.

A few hours later Jay sends me a message that went exactly like this:

Bambi - I'm sorry I had to leave. I could see right away that we weren't going to be compatible -- a no class exit. I'm just so tired of either being rejected or having to do the rejecting. It's so frustrating!! I wish we could just find what we want!! Time is marching on for both of us.

I would like to clarify that at no time did Starbucks catch on fire or need to be evacuated for any other reason during the half hour or so I sat on the patio. Jay did not "have" to leave. I would also like to clarify that more than one exclamation mark is never, ever appropriate.

Also, Jay is a f*ckwit.

The declaration that time is indeed marching on was really the frosting on the fruitloop. Until that point, I was unaware that I was about to max out any sort of time limit. Born without a biological clock, I feel no particular urgency to meet and marry or procreate other than a nagging fear that much like pierced ears, if I don't use it it's going to grow over.

This should be the end of the story, but it's not. Jay has since been in touch, wanting to make friendly chit-chat. Flirting with me even. I suggested that since I was so hideous he had to flee the scene, he really shouldn't bother sending me any more messages. No really - don't bother.

He said I wasn't hideous, but he knew it wouldn't work out long-term and he sensed that was what I wanted and it wouldn't have been fair for him to stay. I'd tell you what I answered but I blacked out after my head repeatedly hit the keyboard.

He went on to say how he felt a good connection with me and wanted that again. I told him he had his chance and then I went to bed. This morning I logged on to MSN only to get this belated message from Jay:

We both know we need one another.

Um. Apart from the sheer entertainment value his crazy is now providing me, I'm not entirely convinced I need him. And so I reply:

Wow. I need a guy who left a first impression so rude, and so without class that it's mind-boggling? Really??

So my cynical and optimistic sides are now clutching one another like two former strangers brought together by trauma. Why couldn't he just have been riding a damned unicycle like a normal person?