Peer pressure (or, why it sucks to be a girl)

I've realized that the toughest thing about losing weight/getting in shape when you don't look like someone that "needs to" is getting other people to be supportive of you doing this.  My officemate and I have had to be really sneaky at work about how we're going to WW meetings, because, it's kind of random and embarrassing.  It gets hard eating meals with people, too, because you're sitting there with your salad and your apple, trying not to tear the bacon cheeseburger out of the hand of the guy sitting next to you.  (No, really, that happened.  It also had BBQ sauce and onion rings on it, and I would have torn his whole hand off if it meant I would get the burger, too.)  I went out with friends Thursday night and ate a sensible salad beforehand while they went and gorged themselves at food truck heaven.  I kept myself to ten french fries, which, yes, I actually counted so I could log them later. 
And then there's my boyfriend.  My boyfriend, who from day one, has told me how great it is that I actually eat, rather that sitting around picking the chocolate chips out of a granola bar.  Who told me I looked like I worked out every day at a time when I never worked out, ever.  (This was, however, during the brief golden period of my life two years ago when I was on an amazing thing I call the "hangover and distress" diet where I was drinking too much and making some nonawesome life decisions, and thus never felt like consuming solid food, and therefore fit into my size 4 jeans that have not fit since.)  When I admitted to him that I was doing WW, he was just kind of like "Why?", which is understandable.  Like most boys (and, I would argue, sane people), he has never met a meat or cheese product he didn't like.  And so it is difficult to eat well around him, when his fridge is only ever stocked with variations on sausage, cheese, and avocados.  Eating out with him also presents a challenge.  We were supposed to go for tapas last night, which I figured would be fine, but the place was too crowded and we ended up at a French bistro, where you know everything has been cooked in at least one stick of butter, and I didn't want to be that girl that orders a salad.  So I wasn't.  We split a short rib crepe (amazing! what is it about short ribs?) and I had white fish with lentils and spinach, which would have been pretty healthy if I had not known in my heart about the amount of butter everything was sauteed in.  But, the scale this morning still said 138, so I guess it's okay?  Except for the part where he wants to go to a restaurant tonight because we enjoy the fact that their bar serves a free cheese platter with their margaritas...