Weigh in: much better than expected considering the pints of beer and the discovery that 'temptation, thy name is cheese', 90/198 (kg/lbs).

I'm a kilo down. I'm on the way. I'm already feeling better about life, the universe and everything. It's all good. Mind you, my boy doesn't believe for one minute that I weigh this much. He seems to think that I have a gigantic black hole in my arse that is changing the effects of gravity around me and making me weigh more than I should.

He is silly.

But he is also wonderful. He has no expectations of me as far as losing weight is concerned. He likes me just the way I am.

Expectations are funny things.

I know in my situation, doing the long distance thing, that expectations can also be a dangerous thing.

When you have been doing the long distance thing as long as I have, finally meeting the person can be like the worst blind date ever.

Now, I can hear you ask, how can it be like a blind date? I mean, you know this guy don't you? You've been talking to him almost nightly for nearly a year and a half? If you don't know him by now...

Well, it's all a little bit different when you are face to face. Expectations change.

You know where you stand on the phone or on email. You know the rules of the game. You know the dimensions of the field. You know how things work.

Not only that, but you've had the big discussions. You know his darkest secrets and he knows yours. You've talked until three in the morning about this, that and everything else.

What is there left for you to do?

I know what you are thinking. "Sweet Jaysus, girl. Do we have to draw you a picture?"

Yes, I know there is that.

I was abundantly aware of that.

It didn't make things any easier.

It's kinda weird, really.

I remember the day my boy was arriving very clearly. I kept myself busy. If I didn't I would have gone out of my tiny mind. I pedicured and waxed and blow-dried. I tidied and cleaned and washed. I straightened, I fiddled and I changed. My brother came over and watched me clean out boxes of mail I had kept for 20 odd years. I needed SOMETHING to do. He tried not to laugh at how nervous I was.

All the things that had been plaguing me in the months leading up to this were coming to a head. What if we weren't physically compatible? What if we didn't work out? Or, god forbid, what if we did? What would we do? Would my family like him? Would my friends like him? Would he like my family and friends? My mind was spinning out of control.

As I drove out to the airport, I rehearsed welcome lines in my head. I didn't want my words to betray my nerves. Control freak? Moi? Never! I don't even remember what it is I wanted to say. Or whether I managed to say it, after all that. Mind you, looking back on it now, he was probably too nervous himself to care whether I came off sounding cool or not.

I got to the airport early. I must not have looked as panic-stricken as I felt, or security would have been called as I wandered through the deserted terminal. I found the gate I needed to be at, pulled out a book and pretended to read. I considered hiding behind a pillar so that I could see him before he saw me. I dismissed the idea. How would I have felt in his place? So I sat at the gate, pretending to read, pretending like something huge and overwhelming and scary and wonderful wasn't about to happen, because if I acknowledged it, I would have run away.

There was another family waiting at the gate. They started crowding the window, gabbling excitedly to each other.

Dear god, the plane had landed.

It was like out of a sitcom. Should I stand? Should I sit? Should I lounge against a pillar? Did my hair look good? Did my breath smell good?

OHMIGOD...

It's him.

And thought just left me.

I seem to recall that meeting him and holding him and taking his hand and collecting his luggage wasn't nearly as scary as I'd anticipated. I think I said words. I couldn't tell you what they were. We found his bags then we found the car. I managed to get us lost on the way home.

He was here. What on earth was I going to do with him?

No, I really don't need you to draw me a diagram.

Let me explain something here. I'm not a one night stand kinda girl. I just can't do it. I need to know someone really well before I let them into my bed. I need to be comfortable with a person. Now I was comfortable with him. On the phone. In email.

In the flesh?

I didn't know him from a bar of soap. And I was terrified.

Not only that, but, unwittingly, he had broken my cardinal rule. You see, he lives at home. His dad is a heavy smoker. His clothes were permeated with cigarette smoke.

I couldn't smell him. All I could smell was stale smoke.

Stale smoke doesn't smell good.

A boy has to smell good. It is imperative. There can be no toe curling if a boy doesn't smell good. I don't mean covered in cologne. I just need to be able to smell a guy. I like to know what his body smells like, what his hair smells like.

So you can see where I was. I had this guy in my house that I didn't feel I knew properly whose scent was being masked by stale smoke.

Call me picky if you will, but that's just who I am.

But my motto? "No regrets."

There really wasn't a choice, deep down.

The moral of this story? Push your boundaries. And smoke can always be washed out of clothes.