“What is anatomy?

Something of which we all have, but looks best on a woman.”

I have met this girl a few times now. We get coffee, or whisky when I’m drinking again. We sit and we talk and solve the world’s problems. A little salt in Liberia, a sprinkle of paprika in the Balkans, a dash of sugar in the Middle East, and set to simmer in the American Midwest.

Sometimes the banter is light and pleasant and other times things become more drawn out with the tendrils of our conversation reaching far deeper and more sensitive topics. Of course, it means nothing really, just a way for us to continue to see each other and talk about the things that interest us.

I worry though, and you’ll have to forgive me. I worry that I will not be taken seriously when I describe how much I appreciate and how wonderful this woman is simply because I find her attractive. Much ink has been spilled to point the finger at men who write about women and I worry that my point about this girl will be lost because I find her attractive.

She is smart. Not just in an intelligent way, but an emotional way as well. In one breath denouncing an easily solved atrocity and in another lamenting the circumstances that led to it and all the lives it impacted. Not single minded at all, but I worry that how I feel about her is invalidated because she also has magnificent breasts.

Therein lies the problem I am recounting to you now. I worry that there is not space for my adoration to be perceived both ways because of the inherent bias against a man and it is troubling. Is it wrong to admire her ability to quote Foucault in one sentence and comment on the delicacy of her pubic grooming style in the next? Does one invalidate the other?

I get it. I am a man and therefor the things I say are put through a singular prism created from a semen based epoxy. But, I must lament that fact because who then will write these things? Is there not some truth to the fact that this woman is both beautiful and intelligent? Can I not focus on both items separately and together as I please as long as I am not disparaging her?

Is it possible that there has been one too many men who have gone out of their way to describe a woman based on her looks alone that to even bring that matter into the mix is an insult? Perhaps, there has been one Pygmalion too many and we as men must avoid the physical nature of attraction and focus instead on the ephemeral side of attraction.

I believe it is a fallacy. That it is more important for me to wonder what she looks like in the throws of a good book as opposed to what she looks like in the throws of a good orgasm. I believe we are in a place now where one thought is outwardly praised more than the other and I believe that is where we have gone wrong as humans.

It is a personal fact: This woman is gorgeous. I could lie to you and say that I did not realize this until I spoke to her and felt her life-force knock against mine, but the truth is that I watched her walk into the bar and my cave-man brain started itemizing the things that I found particularly appealing about her. I won’t bore you with the details, but friend, let me tell you this lady has legs that would make a fertility goddess forget about hips.

Then we spoke and talked some more and the things I said were improved or eclipsed by the things she said. In the midst of this I felt my gut tightening. No one would believe me. To say, I have found a Unicorn out in the wild: “Ah, yes, fellas let me tell you she is stacked and it was delightful to hear her relate the parable of the previous reincarnation of Buddha to the homeless epidemic we are experiencing in the sad peripherals of our great cities.”

It’s a lot like using niggardly in a sentence. If you use it too early on most folks spend the rest of the sentence deciding where they come down on the racist implications of that word rather than listen to the rest of the sentence. Because I mentioned that she is ‘stacked’ the fact that she was able to use a philosophical story to fully describe a modern problem is lost on the audience.

There is a point to this. You see, I am blessed in having met a woman with such an equilibrium of beauty and intelligence. It makes it easy on me in describing her because I can tap into where the blood rushes. I can describe what makes her attractive to me and I can explain what it is like the swim in the estuaries of her personality.

I suppose it is not too much to worry about after all. She is what she is and if it turns out that I have exaggerated then others can rest easy that such a being of perfection does not exist, or if I am right on the money then I cannot be assailed for telling the truth about what I saw. I am practicing honesty and as it occurs to me there is nothing wrong with a little heroine worship. I just don’t want people to be distracted, you know? I feel that if one were to focus just on how beautiful she is then they would be missing a whole other world of what makes her so lovely. If one wanted to circumvent the typical protests and focus solely on her intelligence and personality they would being doing a disservice to how those things are presented to the world.

Inevitably, this wonder-woman will discover that I am far beneath her. I know it will come and am resigned to that fact. It will be a click in her mind as I say something that reveals my true nature: a drooling idiot, who was taught manners in the same way apes are taught sign language. It will be a good realization and she will leave and I will look to the door for more potential partners.

But, what of the next one?