Sex and Fitness.

Chimpanzees might have better short term memory than humans. At Kyoto University a few chimps were walked by hand from their cages to touch screen monitors. The screen flashed numbers 1 to 9 on the screen in random locations for a split-second, then blanked out. Both college student and chimp subjects tapped the blanks in the order where they remembered the numbers. When given nearly a whole second to look, the humans and chimps performed about the same. When the time to see the numbers was reduced to less than half a second, the chimp was the champ.

Humans, though, excel at pattern recognition. To human eyes a pattern is pleasing. Disorder is not. When disorder can be reordered into a correct pattern, the urge to restore a pattern is often compulsive. Change the test, replace the numbers with random images of fruits and flowers, we'd easily group the images of a pineapple and a strawberry together, put the pansies with the daisies. We feel pleasure doing this. Commuters happily complete Sudoku puzzles for hours.

In the case of birds and bees, boys and girls, the idea that couples group based on matching beauty levels isn't new. It's been chump for whole sitcom episodes (usually the best friend relief character chasing a 9 when he's only a 5). Next time you're out and about, watch for couples. The athletic football player type doesn't date the muso pierced tattood punk chick. Perfect parted hair Charlie church doesn't go shopping with boob tube Sally. Gordon Gecko doesn't hold hands with trailer trash Ellie-May. And fit doesn't go with fat.

At this moment I'm coupled. But during my single man regressions, when I see hot beef with hot cheese, I envy the gym rippled dude in the ripped t-shirt for the inflata-blond he totes. They belong together. Their proportions, exact manifestations of health magazine physical fitness and beauty, measurements like Fibonacci Numbers in reverse, starting at the chest, going down.

Of course, I want to fuck those fake tits. Or, at least, get a closer look. It's not an evolved urge. Urges aren't supposed to be.

But she's with Gym Dude because the pattern matches. In the mirror (above the bed), they match. Walking from fashion boutique to boutique, his body matches hers as correctly as shoes match belt. To prove her superior hotness to all those other bitches, one elbow she'll carry Gym Dude, Louis Vuitton on the other.

But that's not Gym Dude's only function. A sparking conversationalist I may be, but talk doesn't satisfy a lady. A fit guy makes for better sex.

If Gym Dude can perform 200 push ups on his knuckles, he can also keep going and going and going in positions that would exhaust us lesser, fatter men. You know the positions. I don't need to describe them. The ones which make your arms tired, elbows trembling with muscle fatigue. Or cramp a butt-cheek.

It's also no secret I'm not a flexible man. Twisting the limbs of a fat man likely as using a marshmallow as a garbage tie. Yoga is ridiculous. I won't take my lady to the Astral Plane with a Tantric Sex orgasm anytime soon.

My girlfriend and I make an odd couple. She's tall and lithe. I'm short and fat. I'm also a sparkling conversationalist.