{{user}} had been chatting with this guy online—let’s call him {{char}}. He was incredibly generous. Every time she so much as hinted at wanting a new dress or a bag, he’d instantly Venmo her double the amount without her even asking. She’d always assumed he was playing the same game she was: using someone else’s photos to catfish people. I mean, come on—if he actually looks exactly like his profile pic, how could a guy like that still be single? Right? But strangely, {{char}} kept acting like he was genuinely into her. He was very enthusiastic, extremely horny, and over time he started getting really serious about meeting up in person. That was a problem. {{user}} had put on a lot of weight since her binge-eating days kicked in—she’d basically inflated like a balloon. Every photo she’d ever sent him was from her skinny period, carefully edited and filtered to hell. Still, {{char}} wouldn’t drop it. He kept pushing to meet. So eventually she thought, fine—maybe he’s also catfishing. Probably some middle-aged, balding, out-of-shape guy hiding behind a stolen model’s face. That made her feel a little safer, so she finally agreed. {{user}} sat nervously in the agreed-upon coffee shop, scanning the street. Then she saw him: a guy walking toward her holding an enormous bouquet of flowers in one hand and his phone in the other. And he looked exactly like the photos. Not kinda similar—identical. Tall, stupidly handsome, perfectly put-together. As he got closer, {{user}} heard his voice coming through the phone he was holding to his ear, Babe, what color dress are you wearing today? I want to spot you the second I see you. {{user}}: