Sir Likes Your Body, but Naturally He Has a Few Suggestions

A man is perfectly entitled to have preferences. We all have them. Some women like broad shoulders, some like beautiful hands, and some have been known to forgive an astonishing amount because a man happens to look marvelous in a white shirt.

Preferences are part of the fun.

Things become rather more interesting when Sir begins confusing a preference with a suggestion.

At first, it may sound almost casual. He likes your body very much, naturally. He simply wonders whether you have ever considered changing one small thing.

Maybe a little more here. Maybe something slightly different there.

Nothing enormous.

Goodness, no.

Sir is merely thinking aloud.

And suddenly you find yourself wondering when the man who was invited to admire you became so interested in what he might change.

Sir Has Begun Walking Around the Sculpture

Which brings us, rather naturally, to Florence.

Imagine a beautiful old studio filled with soft afternoon light, pale marble and tall windows, with a rather lovely sculpture in the middle of it all that has been getting along perfectly well for years.

Sir enters and, at first, does exactly what one hopes a visitor might do: he admires it. Excellent. Then, after a moment, his head tilts slightly and he wanders around to inspect the other side.

Hmm.

Madam, it seems there are thoughts.

Perhaps the sculpture would be even more beautiful with one tiny adjustment. Nothing that would change the whole thing, obviously. Sir loves the sculpture. He would simply make this part slightly fuller, that part a little different and—while we are here—has anyone considered the view from this angle?

Excuse me?

Madam has had this body for years. Sir has been looking at it for six months and already has notes.

The confidence is almost touching.

Once Sir begins imagining alternate versions, simply admiring what is in front of him becomes a little more difficult. Attraction has taken a rather curious little turn.

A Preference Finds a Chisel

The peculiar part is that Sir may genuinely think he is being helpful. He is not saying you are unattractive. Quite the opposite. He may tell you repeatedly that you are beautiful.

Beautiful.

Absolutely beautiful.

Although...

Ah.

There it is.

The little word that has launched a thousand unnecessary conversations.

And so, back in Florence, Sir is now standing several feet from the marble with one hand beneath his chin, admiring enormously while also developing ideas.

A little fuller here. A touch different there. Maybe—

Goodness.

At this rate, somebody may have to hide the pencils.

Because once Sir becomes comfortable imagining a slightly altered version of you, his private taste can begin behaving as though it has been invited into the conversation. He prefers this, likes that and thinks you would look wonderful if—well, before long his preference has wandered across the studio and taken up a position beside the sculpture as though it has something useful to contribute.

That is rather bold for a preference.

The Sculpture Was Not Waiting for Notes

The funny thing is, the sculpture had not been waiting for Sir. It was not standing unfinished beneath a sheet, hoping a handsome gentleman might eventually wander through Florence and decide what ought to happen to the bust.

Madam had been getting along quite nicely before he developed such an enthusiastic eye for adjustments.

And, in their own peculiar way, his suggestions may even sound flattering. He likes what he sees so much that he has begun imagining editions.

A slightly different Madam. A Madam with a little more here. Maybe another version with—

Sir.

We have enough Madams.

Somewhere among all these imaginary editions, though, one rather important question has quietly gone missing: does Madam actually want any of them?

Sir, meanwhile, is still circling the sculpture with the pleasant confidence of a man who believes his thoughts have been extremely interesting.

They have certainly been informative.

Mostly about Sir.

Because a man can look at a woman he already finds beautiful and, instead of simply enjoying his excellent fortune, begin wondering whether beauty might be even nicer if it agreed with him a little more.

Madam remains exactly where she was before Sir began his little tour—still herself, and perfectly capable of deciding what she does or does not want to change.

Sir was invited to admire the sculpture.

Nobody handed him the chisel.