“What’s wrong?” Wendy asked.
“Look at this thing,” he said, pointing at the mannequin displaying a day-glo yellow “Combat Mode” t-shirt. “I’ll never be that ripped.”
“I don’t think that sort of thing just happens,” she said. “Are you trying to get ripped?”
“No,” he said, “but still. That’s an unattainable goal for someone. It’s like they’re trying to set you up for failure.”
“Please don’t feel inferior to the dummy,” she said. “If you were injection moulded, you’d be a hardbody, too. Don’t take it personally.”
“If they had a male mannequin with a keg instead of a six-pack, that would be more attainable,” Alex said.
“There are plenty of stores based on that model, honey,” Wendy said. “They just don’t have mannequins on display to show the results. And please don’t tell me how society is designed to make you feel bad about the way you look. Women have it exponentially tougher. You don’t expect me to look like the female mannequin with the ‘Shut up and run’ top on over there, do you?”
“Well, no,” he said.
“Don’t worry about it. So you’re not rock hard. That would make it very uncomfortable for me to snuggle up with you. When the lights go out in the store tonight, that mannequin is going to be all alone, and you’re not.”
Alex had to admit that it was a pretty good trade off.