I came to this realization today as I was walking my children to school.  I saw a fat Soldier in his PTs with his fat knees and his chubby face and it just clicked.

All along I have tried to fight this because I get so annoyed by men, especially fat or otherwise physically less-than-ideal men, making negative comments about overweight women.  The beauty standards American women are held to are so obnoxious, and it was refreshing to think that at least one sex could still get by with being "real" and "average". 

I had it in my head that since I am no Jessica Alba, or Jessica Alba's slightly overweight, buck-toothed, but still kinda cute cousin, for that matter, I had no right to demand...or even appreciate...qualities like fitness in a man.  I even felt kind of wrong for having such a hot husband, and even more wrong when he would work out a lot and get buff.  It would be like having one awesome, perky breast and a sad little droopy bit of flesh with a diseased green nipple beside it.  Very uneven and just somehow...wrong.

But I like what I like, and you know what?  If ugly, flabby men can imagine themselves deserving the amorous attention of Angelina Jolie, then what's wrong with a size 12 goofball like me proclaiming that men with knee fat are unworthy of any perverted leering on my part?

I like that my husband takes care of his body.  I like that he's attractive.  And I would be less attracted to him (physically, anyways), if he put on a ton of weight and ended up a doughy weakling. 

I'm entitled to be shallow and adhere to double standards, too.