His taste in women was better than I thought it would be. He was the type of man to look at the beauty on the inside rather than the outside. He had gone out with women of all shapes and sizes because of this. People would give him funny looks as they walked down the street together because—let’s be honest—most of the women he dated made them look like an odd couple.
He was my friend and I respected him as such. He brought a different girl to meet our group of friends every two weeks. Yeah, none of them lasted long.
One woman was Jill. She was tall and slender with gorgeous crystal blue eyes and long, flowing blonde hair. She always wore tight miniskirts with halter tops, even though they dated in December. I never did figure out how she walked through ice and snow in three-inch heels. Her personality was bubbly. She was friendly always smiling and laughing. Jill got along with everyone in our group. Two weeks later, he split up with her. She was sad, but not too sad because I heard she found another boyfriend about three days later.
Another woman was Amy. She was the average height of 5’5” and a little chunky around the edges. She preferred her jeans, t-shirts, and sneakers. She enjoyed running in the afternoons, which was something he didn’t enjoy. But for two weeks, he did. He ended up losing a few pounds while she only lost one. That was the end of that relationship.
One woman was as big and strong as a fitness trainer with a childish personality, one was short and stubby and a little depressed, and another was petite with a temper as short as a time bomb.
Let me tell you this: I’m average. I’m the same height as him, I wear casual clothes, but can dress up when I want, I’m zit-free, and my personality is friendly and happy to all. He and I get along great. We’ve been friends since elementary school and talk to each other every day. I was just as unique as all those other girls he dated.
So… Why wouldn’t he go out with me?
