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A stiff drink was totally the answer. As I was sitting at the bar of a local pub, I realized the cute bartender looked awfully familiar. This is always the danger when you're back in the neighborhood in which you grew up. But I couldn't put my finger on it.

Nooo, I told myself. It can't be Chubby Charlie, the fat kid from school. Because he sure as hell isn't chunky anymore. The guy has some serious guns now. And a great smile with one little dimple.

Then he saw me checking him out. "You're not Chubby Charlie, are you?" I blurted out.

"I was Chubby Charlie," he said with an air of confidence. "But not anymore," he added, as he winked at me.

"You look great," I told him, in the most casual tone possible.

"And you're Lisa, right?" he asked. "The skinniest girl in grade school."

Yep, that was me—scrawny, late-blooming Lisa.

"Well," he said, looking down at my chest and raising his eyebrows, "it looks like you're fat in all the right places now."

I felt my face go red. Usually, these sorts of comments completely turn me off. But it was cute coming from Chubby Charlie.

We talked about the people we knew and what happened to them. Before I knew it hours had passed. I looked at my watch and said, "Shit, I better get home before my mom finds out that I'm gone and calls the police."

He teased, "Are you out past curfew?"

"It's worse than that," I said without explaining.

"I'm off tomorrow night," said Charlie. "Why don't you come over and, uh, check out old photos or something after your mom's party?"

"I better do that if you're such an avid scrapbooker," I replied, as I grabbed his number.

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