We all know that feeling at the start of the day when you interact with someone pleasant, when someone says something kind to you, and suddenly your whole day feels better. An hour doesn't go by without thinking about that moment or that person. No matter what you do or where you go, it's as if you're carrying a little aura above your head and everything seems to fall into place. Well, that's exactly how I feel whenever I interact with a plus-size woman—whether through conversation, a simple gesture, or even just a brief exchange of glances. No, I'm not weird. I'm not obsessed. I'm simply a normal guy who happens to be attracted to plus-size women. To me, they are my weakness. They are that ray of sunshine that brings a smile to my face and warmth to my heart for the rest of the day. I'm no different from any other man. The only difference is that I don't have preferences for blonde or brunette hair, curly or straight hair, blue, green, or brown eye...
My husband is the perfect man. Every woman I know has told me so. I just found out why. We met three years ago. He was everything. Attentive. Funny. Remembered the name of my childhood dog on the second date. My friends were almost annoyed at how good he was. "Nobody's that perfect," my best friend Kara said. I laughed. I should have listened. The wedding was beautiful. The house came next. A Victorian fixer upper in a small town two hours from the city. His idea. "We need space," he said. "Away from all the noise." I agreed. I was in love. I would have agreed to anything. The first year was good. He cooked. He cleaned. He left notes on my pillow. He planned surprise trips. He never raised his voice. He never forgot an anniversary or a birthday or a random Tuesday he'd declared "us day." My mother adored him. My coworkers envied me. Kara stopped warning me and started saying she wished she could find someone like him. I noticed the first...