At first, a few weeks ago, he stopped his car on his way home, leaned out his window and said I was looking leaner by the day. I fondled his two tiny dogs while we chatted about my Aikido training.

Yesterday, when I passed his house on my walk, he mentioned that he kept seeing me on the CNBC The Oprah Effect and that I looked good on the show. I joked that it was all the make-up and good lighting. But he kept hedging. “You are about one-third of your original size,” he said.

“Oh TV ads ten pounds,” I said. “I was the same weight then as I am now, I just looked chunkier on TV.”

Finally, he came out with it. “I prefer women with more meat on them.” Well, I’m not sure he noticed but I’m not his wife. So this is not information I need to know.

I confess that after that conversation I spent some time fretting over my arms getting a bit too cut from Aikido weapons training with the jo (long stick) and bokken (wooden sword). But I like the way they look. Kind of like Michelle Obama’s arms only shorter and chubbier. It’s happening naturally. My sweetie Will said that my arms looked toned and fit. His opinion is the one that matters.

But here’s the thing. I want to get to the point where I don’t fret for even one second about what anyone thinks about my body. Which leads me to the next point. Why do men think that they can just comment on it and tell me that I don’t match their preferences? I’m in a relationship. So is my neighbor. What does he care about the muscularity of my arms anyway? Who is he to say that my onion is too big or too small?

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