Two true conversations – one recent and one not-so-recent:
When I was about 19, insecure and dating my high school sweetheart, I asked him if he thought I was chubby.
He replied, “You’re not chubby. You’ve just got a thin layer of fat on your stomach.”
I couldn’t argue with this assessment. It was true. And though his remark didn’t send me into a downward spiral of body hate, it certainly didn’t boost my ego. It stuck with me of course, not because it was purposefully hurtful, but because it was idiotically truthful.
Fast-forward to my marriage …
About two weeks ago, after walking out of the shower and glancing in the mirror, I noticed that my shoulders looked especially broad and my arms looked especially muscle-y in that she’s-built-like-a-tank kind of way.
So I asked Joe, “Do you think all this swimming is making my shoulders too broad?”
He replied, “You’ve always had shoulders like a linebacker. It’s one of the first things I noticed about you.”
At first I sighed. I’m a Hungarian shot put thrower. Then I grunted and flashed my teeth like a grizzly bear.
“Fine,” I growled. “All the better to kick your ass.”