I received quite a few comments about my last column which discussed a scientific study showing that women with hourglass figures tend to have smarter children than women with other body types.
I would have completely agreed with this research's results if instead of "hourglass" describing figures, they substituted "potato." - Karin M.
I have never heard a woman refer to her body type as a potato. I’ve heard of a pear, brick, vase, cello, column, bell, lollipop, and apple – but a potato? I guess if men can be studs, women can be spuds.
I have smart children, yet I am an apple. Both my mother and my husband’s mother are also apples. Do you think having a long line of apples also produces smart children? – Stacey G.
This sounds like a good thing to study. I haven’t looked at census records very closely, but I am almost certain that women have to check a box indicating whether they are an apple, a pear, a cello, an hourglass, etc. We might be able to use that data to test your hypothesis. Two wrongs don’t make a right, but maybe two apples make an hourglass. Or maybe I am trying to compare apples and oranges.
Do you think men who look at women with hourglass figures are smarter? – Ted G.
The original study actually tried to answer this question. As you know, in order to reach any conclusions, scientists need to find large groups of men who look at women with hourglass figures and compare their intelligence with large groups of men who don’t look at women with hourglass figures. Unfortunately they couldn’t find enough men in the latter group to do the study.
Are you saying my Mom has a lousy figure? – George C.
I certainly didn’t mean to blame your mental deficiencies on your mother. Many things influence your intelligence, though scientists all agree that your mother’s figure is the most important factor. If it makes you feel any better, the United Nations just released a report blaming global warming for a general decline in world intelligence.
Is Mary (your wife) talking to you yet? – Andrea M.
In my column I said Mary was not speaking to me because she caught me looking at a woman with an hourglass figure and I tried to excuse my action by saying I was just marveling at how smart her children must be. Those of you who know Mary and me know that I just made that up for dramatic effect. Of course I do sometimes look at women with hourglass figures. I also look at pears, apples, bricks, cellos and even potatoes. But Mary doesn’t get mad because she understands shopping.
She is an amazing shopper. When she decides to buy a sofa, for example, she spends months looking at catalogues, visiting stores and watching for sales. She asks my opinion. She asks everyone she knows what they think. She asks my opinion again. Finally she picks a sofa and waits for it to go on sale. She asks my opinion again. When the sale starts we go buy the sofa. On the way home she asks me if she made the right decision. We stop at three stores on the way home to look at sofas again.
When I ask her why we are stopping to look at sofas even though we just bought one she gives two reasons. First, she wants to reassure herself that she made the right decision; second, it is fun!
Had I known about her shopping habits, I would not have been so startled in our first weeks of marriage by Mary’s habit of comparing me with other men, even though she had just married me. Her comments ranged from “Alan is a real jerk – I’m sure glad I didn’t marry him!” to “Roger is really nice. He would make a good husband, but I would rather be married to you!” When I asked her why she was doing this, she gave me the same reasons as when she shops for a sofa – it was reassuring and fun!
Of course, buying a sofa is different than getting married. You don’t have to remember the date you buy a sofa and it’s acceptable to replace a sofa when it gets lumpy. But when I go to the mall and look at a pretty girl, Mary doesn’t mind. She knows window-shopping is fun. There are just two rules: don’t get too close to the windows and every once in awhile reassure Mary that I am glad I married her.

David LeSueur lives in Littleton with his wife, Mary . . . and is glad he is married to her and not to that blonde he saw last week while Christmas shopping.