“Okay, I know this is going to sound bad, but I’m just going to say it, okay?” He was talking quickly. “I know I’m considered a pretty good-looking guy.”

Well, he was right about that.

“People say it all the time. And people think that means they should set me up with girls who are, like, beautiful or whatever.” He was stammering, clearly embarrassed. “Sometimes their ideas are totally irrelevant — it’s like they just set up two good-looking people with each other.”

“It’s not—”

“Wait,” he rushed on. “So the thing is that people automatically assume that I’m interested in a girl with a certain ‘look.’ But I’m not!”

“You’re not?”

“I mean, of course I want my wife to be, you know, pretty and everything. But there are some things that I don’t find attractive, everyone is like that, right? And these matchstick-thin girls…” He trailed off for a minute. “It makes me nervous. I don’t find it attractive. If we’re going to base shidduchim on looks, then I prefer a girl who doesn’t look starved.” He let out a breath, and when he spoke again, he sounded defiant. “There. I said it.”

“I’m still here,” I said.

“When I first started dating, I mentioned this to a couple of people and they laughed at me and totally disregarded what I said. It’s very frustrating.”

I understood why. The ridiculous expectations society carries about how women “should” look cause a lot of pain to a lot of people.

Chezky’s flexibility opened up many opportunities for him. Unlike Chezky’s previous encounters, I felt free to suggest any girl who might be a good match for him without accounting for her dress size.

In time, Chezky discovered that great girls are found across the spectrum of size. Just as he refused to automatically reject girls who were not thin, he eventually stopped refusing to date girls who were thin. Size became irrelevant in the face of the much more important considerations.

Chezky eventually married Rena, a PA from Brooklyn. She’s a great girl — down to earth, thoughtful, and kind, with a wicked sense of humor. She radiates an attractive confidence and is intelligent and fun to talk to.

Eli, the guy who was looking for super-slim, got married too. About two years after his wedding he texted me a family picture: himself and his wife Malky, beaming at the camera and holding an adorable toddler and a gorgeous baby girl.

I was admiring the picture when his number flashed on my screen.

“I decided I have to call you,” he announced. “It was just our anniversary, we just had another baby, it’s all thanks to you. I had to call you personally.”

“Mazel tov!” I said.

“You made my shidduch and you made my life,” he went on. (He’d always been pretty effusive.) “No matter what I heard about Malky before I met her, she’s even more incredible in real life. I’m the luckiest guy.”

I was grinning, his joy was contagious.

“You should start an album for your ‘shidduch grandchildren’!” he said. “I’ll send you more pictures!”

“Thanks,” I said, laughing.

Then he turned serious. “But I have to tell you one thing. After our baby was born, Malky was dieting like crazy. And she was working, and nursing, and everything else — and she was going to the gym straight from work. She was falling apart and I knew it was my fault. Me and my thing about having a thin wife.” He coughed.

“It was a real wake-up call for me. I want her to be happy. I told her that. Stop going to the gym. Stop obsessing over what you’re eating. Just relax and live a little. So you look a little different now.” He cleared his throat again. “All I want is a happy wife. That’s very important to me. She’s beautiful to me, she’s the mother of my children. Maybe one day she’ll be thin again and maybe not. I love my wife and kids and am so grateful for everything I have.”

I had to clear my throat too. “I am so happy to hear that,” I said.

“Mrs. Leiman,” he said candidly, “I know what a terror I was in shidduchim. Shadchanim were so fed up with me. I wanted people to have a certain image of me. I guess I’ve grown up a little.”

“Eli,” I said, “do you remember what I used to ask you every time you said no?”

“Of course.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “I used to get really annoyed when you said it: ‘What happens if your wife gains weight?’ Well,” he said, “now I know. I care for her more than ever.”

to be continued…

Shani Leiman is a teacher, shadchan, and dating coach. She lives in Silver Spring, Maryland.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 716)