Strangelove: How I learned to stop worrying and scientifically love the booty

      It was the impossible situation.  My wife asked me if it looked like she was putting on weight.  By the look in her eye, she was sincere and serious.  She wanted to know.  I was overcome by the irresistible need for self-preservation.  The urge to flee overwhelmed me.  My modern man conditioning suppressed that urge.  And by conditioning, I mean, physical conditioning not mental.  I'm too out of shape to actually "run" away.  The dreaded question, apparently skillfully avoided for years and years, had just been uttered in my direction.    

Okay (heaven help me if she reads this) she isn’t exactly the slim little body she was when we got married.  I mean she is over thirty by *cough, cough* years now.  She has had eight pregnancies, and the corresponding eight deliveries.  So, you know, things may be starting to…settle…a little.  But the woman ain’t fat either.  I like her curves.  Not to be leering here, but a nice full bosom and a round derriere is a huge turn on for me.  We’re not talking J-Lo butt.  But I’ve always had the Marilyn Monroe, Mae West, Maureen O’Hara thing.  Looking at the list I just produced off the top of my head, you’d think I had a thing for women whose names start with M.  I did spend 18 months in Brazil so I can tell you about Carmen Miranda (hmmm…her real first name is Maria).  Let’s mention Sophia Loren and the very classy Ann Margaret.  I want to make it clear that I am only talking body archetype here.  But just to go into TMI mode for a moment, I am partial to brunette and auburn colored hair.  Joan Holloway (Mad Men) fits the mold but her hair is too red.  If Norma Jean would have let her hair lengthen out to its natural color…   I know, this whole blog is TMI.  Let me extricate me from this paragraph. Honey, just pointing out that most of these women are no longer with us, just saying.

So, as far as my preferences go; as exemplified by the aforementioned feminine archetypes, that is what I have now with her.  I have a sweet little brunette wife with the sexy curvy woman’s body.  I’m happy.  22 years of marriage, and I’m still turned on just watching her do stuff around the house.  I’m also turned on by the fact that I’m not the one doing that stuff around the house.  This puts me in a good mood.  And as a plus the woman looks good to me.  I just watch her sometimes; I get a thrill out of seeing her.  A playboy bunny would turn me on less than just watching her bend over and pick up toys, stretch to put away dishes on upper shelves, or even crawl around on the floor chasing a one year old that is resistant to a diaper change.  It’s a spectator sport for me.

Thanks to DOCTOR Gary Chapman, as if he were a real doctor, Gailyn has new ammunition.  She has informed me that her love language is service.  I should help out more.  That would show her that I really do love her.  I’ve informed her that my love language is service, too, as I snuggle up against her.  She tells me not to be vulgar and play slaps me.  Some women seem to like bad boys; as long as the boys are bad when they are supposed to be bad.  But even so, I scored a few points.  What can I say? I’ve been attracted to her since the summer of 1983.  It would be proof overkill to mention that we have 7 kids at home.  So the question she put out there – Do I look like I’ve been putting on weight?  This is not a question I want to answer.

Hopefully, I could redirect this line of questioning.  When we were newlyweds, I wouldn’t say she was naïve, but she believed me when I told her things.  As time went on she adopted a more trust, but verify stance.  Lately there has been more of an “I’ll believe it when I see it.”  I was going to have to be smooth.

I wrapped my arms around her, planted a passionate kiss on her lips and swatted her callipygian behind.  “You’re so sexy, you melt my popsicle.”  This last phrase is from a Katy Perry song that we both find annoying because the tune lingers in your head all day.  And Gailyn also hates it because in the video the singer is laying down wearing only a cloud.  As parents, we’re hip.  We have teens and preteens around.  And yes, I just disproved that theory by using the term “hip”.  At least I didn’t say “bust a move” like I heard a football announcer did last Saturday. 

She didn’t miss a trick.  She looked at me with that look that all husbands have seen when they realize that their wives are not buying it.  She said, “That meant yes didn’t it? 

“I didn’t say yes.  I’m saying that you are gorgeous just the way… you… are…”  Flight would have been the better choice.  Though I might still be going out the window, I thought.  Featherless birds do not fly.  Just the way you are, I’d said.  Wars have been started on less tact and diplomacy.  I frantically plunged ahead trying to salvage the situation.  Another bad choice?  At least at work you can claim you are late for a meeting.  “Well, you’ve had gestational diabetes twice, and you know that the risk of developing Type II is high for women who have had gestational diabetes.  It might be good to lose a few pounds.  Diabetes is a nasty disease.  It affects your feet, your eyes, your heart, everything.  I wouldn’t wish that on you.  So you could do it for health reasons, but as far as how you look I’m happy with you.  I like it fine.”

Now this was a risky move.  Wives do this to husbands all the time.  "I'm just telling you this because I care about you."  99 times out of a hundred women do not accept this logic back.  It's their line and they aren't sharing it with us.  It's a copyright of the fairer sex.  But surprisingly she was okay.  She accepted it.  I would be allowed to sleep in the house that night. 

She told me her weight loss goals.  She had already accepted the answer before she had even asked me the question.  I was supposed to confirm her decision without knowing that she had made one.  This is the area where marriage is not fair.  I can be a hero or a villain at any point without knowing if there is a correct answer.  Lady or the tiger.  I figure, Door 1 - Certain Doom.  It's a tiger and you are getting eaten.  Door 2: Lady – you will either get kisses or eaten – 50/50 chance.  This is the reduction of my unified field theory of marriage – husband edition.  In any matter where a choice is involved, there is a 75% chance she is going to chew you up, and 25% chance she is going to make you feel like a knight in shining armor.  And please shoot me in the head, but the 25% makes the 75% worth it.  We’re like dogs, you can kick us, yell at us, hit us with a rolled up newspaper, but pet us on the head once in a while and we’ll follow you anywhere.  Mostly, we follow because then we can look at your butt. 

It’s true.  It’s scientifically proven.  Ladies, when you sit around talking about whether your men are boob-men or leg-men or whatever, and you know you do…consider that biology and evolution have already made that guy a connoisseur of your rear end.  It’s called the waist-hip ratio.  Without getting all mathematical here, the WHR is a global indicator for attractiveness across all cultures.  Other physical characteristics may be societally preferable (long legs, little noses, round earlobes, bound feet, etc.) but a WHR of .6 to .9 is a universal attraction factor for men.  It’s the hourglass figure.  We are all genetically predisposed to look for it.  Scientists say it is an indicator for health, fertility, fitness.  Recent studies have shown that the higher the WHR the more likely a woman is to produce higher intelligence offspring.  Men don’t instinctively know that part, they just find it good to look at.

One of the global qualities that attract women to men is height.  I'm 6’2”, but Gailyn has called me short.  She is descended from Vikings and Normans.  Okay, I would have made an average Norseman, but hardly a shorty.  Lately time has made a height adjustment for me to about 6’1” (Driver’s License still says 6’2” – and I’m not changing it).  Medical Science tells me I can expect to lose another inch off of my top height in the next 30 years.  So how is this fair?  If middle age decides to pad out her bottom and she gets cuter and cuter to me, will I become less and less attractive to her?  Who thought this stuff up anyway?   Not to mention the whole hair loss thing.  I'm doomed.  But I digress.  Let's get back to the ladies. 

The feminine form is inspiring.  The Greeks knew what they were doing with all that fine sculptry.  The Venus de Milo has a WHR of .7.  All those 18 and 19 century bustles and corsets and hip springs were to prey upon men’s predilections.  Butt pads and hip pads were all the rage in the '50s and '60s.  A front page story of the Wall Street Journal on July 22, 2010 read:  “Goodbye, Girdle: Curvy Stars Spark A Raid on Padded Panties.  'Booty Pop' Rounds a Derrière in Jeans, But Egg-Shaped Foam Shows Under Silk.”  I reiterate, Front Page Story.  Sexy sells.  It is sound if it is round.  But not too round.  There can be too much of a good thing.  I offer this anecdotal evidence wrapped up in a personal aside.    

Recently we have moved Joshua’s old TV up to our bedroom.  A TV in the bedroom is a move that I have resisted for years.  Bedrooms are not for TV viewing.  Besides, we have a bathroom off the master bedroom.  Except for kitchen raids and work, with a TV in the bedroom I would never have the need to leave our room.  I looked at its absense as a forced family interaction program.  But when Josh bought himself the 48” HiDef he had no need for the 32” LCD.  Everybody fought over whose room it was going into.  Being the trusting father that I am, I wasn’t sure I was comfortable with a TV in any of their rooms, so it went in ours.  The sacrifices I make for those kids…I tell ya.

At first this was like being in a hotel room.  The TV finds use in two ways; Lie in bed at night and watch until your eyes are bleary (which is why I resisted the placement in the first place) or turn on a cable news network while you are getting ready for work.  I kind of like the latter.  One morning I heard this story:               

Montenegro: Diver harpoons tourist
31 August 2010 | Source: Vijesti, Tanjug

PODGORICA -- A 28-year-old Serbian woman was seriously injured in the Montenegrin seaside town of Budva yesterday when a local diver shot her with a harpoon. The woman, identified as Maja Georgi from the town of Pančevo, was swimming some 20 meters from the shore when the harpoon pierced her left shoulder, in what local media described as an accident. Georgi underwent complicated surgery in the nearby town of Kotor, said reports, and her condition is now stable and non-life threatening.
Georgi, 28, has vowed to go on a diet after she was harpooned by a diver as she swam in the sea.  
"There was suddenly a massive pain in my shoulder and I realised I'd been shot with a spear gun. It hurt at the time but it was an accident and I can laugh now.
"I might need to lose a few pounds but I'm not exactly Moby Dick either," she joked.

I thank my lucky stars that I didn’t hear this news story until after Gailyn asked the question.  I can only give thanks that I didn’t have the opportunity to panic and crack a joke like “Well, at least you haven’t been harpooned yet.” 

It's either the lady or the tiger, folks; the lady or the tiger.  You don't want to catch either one of them by the tail.  But they are kind of nice to look at.