God's joke on us?

I promised to "keep in touch", and Kelly says "stories = keeping in touch", so here's a story.

Last week Jenny and I went to Shadyside Park to speedwalk the trails. While we walked we discussed a variety of things, not least, of course, the pressing topic of exercise.

And then somehow the conversation turned to types-- you know, things that attract us. I pictured Jason standing high over the stove and cooking something so peppery it should burn holes in their palates, and I asked her whether she'd always been into men who are tall and lean. She told me there were a couple of things she'd been into:

A. Tall skinny guy.

B. Rugged natural guy who looks like he farms.

C. Black guy. Dancing black guy, even better.

I was pleased to find out about that last one; it makes three siblings who have harbored the same quiet thoughts of rebellion.

We were taking a long curve where the foliage forms walls that hide the path ahead. Jenny told me how a friend had commented on her marriage to Jason.

"Brittney said, 'Well, you didn't get your hot dancing black guy, but you got your farm boy.'"

She was just beginning to clarify that while her husband has never actually lived on a farm--

A shirtless man appeared jogging round the corner in a blur of copper-brown glory. In relaying the story to our mother, Jenny described him as "sculpted". I can't confirm that, because I was looking at his face, searching in vain for an expression. His face was deadpan. As we passed him, my sister and I glanced at each other in disbelief, and then I cracked up.

"Manda!" she scolded under her breath, but she was smiling big and then she was laughing too.

I love the way Jenny laughs.