There’s a man out there for every woman who takes the time to find him. Sometimes finding the right person to compliment your life takes seconds. Sometimes it takes years. I’m in love with my wife. But that doesn’t mean my wife couldn’t fall madly in love with someone she meets from another country or simply in the produce aisle of Stop and Shop. I meet a lot of women traveling abroad. That doesn’t mean I want to have sex with them or share the rest of my life with them. But it could happen. That’s just life. No matter your intentions, they can be altered in an eye blink. I know plenty of overweight, attractive women. Not my type, but certainly the type for someone, somewhere. And that’s the mystery of life. You run into people without expecting anything to happen, sexually or otherwise, and then it does. Married or not. That’s just the way our paperback lives flow. I can’t predict the Dow Jones average for next week but I can predict that unexpected alliances and affairs and attractions will fall into your lap as easily as a forkful of romaine drooping with blue cheese dressing does. But I can’t imagine tangling with a woman who weighs less than a shitzu. Nicole Ritchie’s bony arms and bony ass and bony everything else is just goddamn creepy. And the reason both Ritchie, Paris Hilton, and the rest of the mob of American female twits strive to be as wraith-like as near death Auschwitz party-goers is competition from other women. For some reason, American women associate being thin with being healthy and attractive. And for some reason they can tell if another woman has dared add so much as an extra ounce or two. And they talk about it. And they wonder if they’ve gotten fat or worse, “do I look fat?” Too many women, looking fat is worse than actually being fat. Men have a tough time comprehending this, I know. My wife has been in the beauty business for more than 18 years. I’ve heard enough stories to spawn a trilogy of weight loss and weight gain soap operas that could keep the presses running for the next millennium. Hell, most of these women don’t even know where their stomach is. They think its south of their navels. It’s not. That’s your colon. And the colon can become gaseous and bloated and all things human. If we still walked on all fours it might not be an issue. After all, few would see the conglomerate bulge of your distended bowls. Years ago, a female bodybuilder, who at that time held the Ms. Olympia title, was heckled for losing muscle tone in favor of a slimmer physique. “You can’t flex bone, Rachel,” someone yelled out from the crowd. Most men fall in love with average women with average boobs, butts, and abs. Most men want to have sex with women who have average boobs, butts, and abs. Most men don’t notice if you’ve gained or lost a few pounds. And more importantly, they don’t care. It’s what comes out of your eyes and your mouth that matters more than the size of your dress. If only women would care what men think about how they look instead of trying to impress other women with their dietary devotion? Remember the commercial where the woman comes out of the bedroom in a blue dress and asks her husband “does this make me look fat?” My answer to her, whoever the actress was, would be “no…you look hot.” Despite what I said, I guarantee she’d still turn and storm back into the bedroom to change. Because “looking hot” to a man is way down on the list compared with “looking fat “to another woman.

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