“Meir’s going on and on about dieting,” I complain as I take a bite of my doughnut.
We sit, two friends and me, at the coffee shop, shooting the breeze.
“Well,” says Sharon, “You did gain some…”
I cut her short. “Not me, Sharon, him. He thinks he’s fat, and by the way, thanks a lot!”
Sharon takes a sip of her cappuccino, and Suzy enters the conversation.
“I think Meir looks great. I like my men darkish,” she adds, eyes sparkling.
“Easy, girl,” I respond. (I love it when I have something someone else wants.)
“Actually, I like my men bald,” Sharon says. “There’s something charming about bald men.” We all agree.
“As for me,” says Suzy, “I don’t like them so tall. I need to look my men in the eye. I don’t want to feel small and vulnerable. And I hate muscles. Too intimidating. If I want a bodyguard, I’ll hire one.” We all nod.
I smile shyly. “I have a fetish, if you will. I love… fat men.”
There, I said it. “I adore big, huge, chubby guys. Give me some fat arms, double chins, and please, please, give me a chubby, soft, hairy, pot belly. Add a Jewish nose, thick glasses and I’m… oh, yeah!”
My friends look at me, shocked. “That sounds like fun,” Suzy says as she gently wipes my sweaty forehead.
“Would you like some cold water?” asks Sharon, looking for the waitress.
“I’m fine!” I say, embarrassed.
“I thought we were just being honest.”
“Sure, sure,” says Sharon. “Are we talking George from Seinfeld?” she asks.
“George, Newman, you choose,” I reply.
“You’re entitled to your own taste. Men like all kinds of women, too. Take my husband, for example,” she says.
“No thanks!” I interrupt. (Did you think I‘d let her diet remark just slide by?)
“No, seriously,” she continues, ignoring my poison. “My husband likes his women short. And I’m not saying that because I’m short, either!”
I agree. “No, you’re saying it ’cause he’s short.”
Suzy chimes in again. “And my hubby? He adores curls!” (She pets her afro dreamily.)
“And my Meir, his ideal woman looks exactly like me!” I chirp.
I return home and tell Meir all about my coffee chat.
“So Suzy said I was her type?” he asks, smiling.
“That’s not the point.” I say. “The point is that we all have different tastes. Tell me what it is you like in a woman.”
“I’m not falling for this one, again,” he says. “Last time we had this conversation, you didn’t talk to me for a week.”
After I assure him it won’t happened again, he begins, “OK, let’s see… she’d have to be tall, slender yet very busty, blond with long hair, with lush lips and blue eyes.”
I push him and slam the bedroom door shut. “OK!” he shouts from behind the door. “No blue eyes. She can have green eyes!”
I’m furious. And I’m not talking to Meir for at least a week!
