Ruben's Women

Ruben's Women

There are days when I'm a very confused person. My mother says to stop thinking so much, but how do you turn off an automatic function?

The other day was an example. I wasn't trying to analyze Plato or anything. I was simply reaching into my cupboard for a tea bag.

I pulled out the box of Orange Pekoe and listened for the sound of the kettle shrieking its banshee wail. As I waited, I lifted the box up to my nose and breathed the orange-clove fragrance of the tea, and I did the unforgivable -- I read the box.

It said Sugar Free, Caffeine Free, Full-bodied. Now, it wasn't like I was trying to think, but how could something with nothing but "free", be "full"? If it's free of, what is it full of?

And why did they call something "diet", "full-bodied"? I thought "full-bodied" was what I was. And nobody ever told me that being "full-bodied" was a positive thing.

My mother scoffed at my musings and snapped, "You're thinking too much again." She calmed me down by reminding me that "full-bodied" just means it's full of flavor.

"Is being a full-bodied woman a plus in life because it means she is plump with flavor?" I asked.

My mom paused to turn off the flame under the teakettle. I guess she didn't approve of whining banshees. "Thinking too much isn't good for you," she repeated. "You're going to get ulcers!" She walked away, shaking her head.

"Maybe she's right," I mumbled and vowed I'd try harder not to ponder. I poured boiling water into my mug and dipped my sugar free, caffeine free, full-bodied tea bag into it. But as I sat down with the steam rising into my nose, the smell of oranges led me to wonder about the teabag company's president.

In my mind I pictured the man wearing a white t-shirt with a picture of one of Ruben's women. (Remember, he's the artist who loved to paint his women plump.) Anyway, the picture on the president's shirt would be all rosy with pink flesh, rounded abundantly in curves with a genuine, wide-girthed fullness.

In my mind I saw the teabag president lining up all the women. "Full-bodied here, skinnies over there," he'd say. He'd be smiling at the women on my side. Then he'd turn, and his face would grow all stern as he glared at the skinnies across from us. "You women, with all your model's bodies -- all angles and cheek bones," he'd scold. "Raise your eyes and see the real women in front of you. Look at their soft, gently molded bodies. They're full-bodied and rich in flavor, while you -- you poor specimens of womanhood -- you are just the opposite of full-bodied. Yes, you guessed it! -- you skinnies! You are the flavorless!"

The phone rang. I picked it up, groaning at my broken dream. It was Carol, wondering whose turn it was to drive to Weight Watchers.

I sighed as I hung up the phone. I took a sip of my tea, but I found it cold and flavorless.


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