One of my most frequently googled posts led to the post in which I make the argument that Sexy comes in all shapes and sizes. It is a belief to which I have fervently cleaved and embodied throughout my adult life. The corollary notion that I am primarily attracted by intellect and words in equal or even greater measure than one’s luck in the genetic lottery is also a long held concept. Like many other personal ideals, it can fall short when tested.
As I write this from the patio of my regular coffeshop, a woman sitting a few feet to my left is testing it. I see Dr. Bly here all the time. We became fast friends about a year ago when we shared a table because all others were taken. Over the course of all those months we’ve had countless coffee dates both planned and unplanned, and I have found her to be brilliant, wickedly funny, a scintillating conversationalist possessed with a healthy dose of snarkasm*, love for wine and baseball**, and a terrific flirt. By any reasonable measure of people, she’s aces over aces.
Dr. Bly also happens to be, according to scientific definitions she helps write and her own admission, morbidly obese.
When we don’t find someone attractive but others think wee should, or we wish we did, the lack of interest can be rested on absence of the indefinable spark. I can’t do that because intellectually we spark.\; the chemistry exists and it is mutual. If the fates were to realign and place her into a size 2-20 body, I would cross six lanes of traffic to ask her to have drinks with me, but this day, like every other day our paths have crossed, I choke on the invitation before she leaves.
I am not certain that the superficial demons on my right shoulder have shouted down more enlightened angels on my left; but I don’t like what it says about me either way.
*the evolutionary cross between sarcasm and snark
* her love of baseball is substantively mitigated by the fact that she is a Red Sawx fan