My sister was thin, and, growing up, had what was called a “nervous stomach.” Faced with any of life’s problems, her first reaction was to throw up and deal with the problem later. My recollection of family trips is of frantic searches for ladies rooms.
Years later, my wife told me I would not like being married to a skinny woman. Skinny women, she told me (she was a nurse and could generalize), are often picky eaters, have all sorts of bowel problems that I don’t want to know about, and would only serve me whole-grain cereals and salads. Forget taking them to a restaurant. They do not enjoy it and ruin the experience for everyone else.
Besides, making love to them would be like making love to a skeleton, all hard rib cages, knee caps, and pelvic bones that look attractive but are not so desirable in practice. She was sure I would not like it.
Years after that, I read somewhere that heavy women enjoy not just food, but any sort of sensual pleasure—like sex. They even enjoy other people’s sensual enjoyment. Any man would do well to chose them.
Now, after so many years of observation, if not of experience, I am convinced she was right, the grass is the greenest right in my own back yard (implying nothing more).