The Chunk.

Her name is Chunky.

When we dated she had (still has) a killer body with a tiny belly that I liked to rub when she ate too much. I would call her Chunky and she'd laugh. It's corny, I know. We broke up with what now seems like decades ago. I had no intentions of keeping in contact with her, but you know how that goes.

This weekend Chunky had to shave her head. Chunky has the Big C. Along with my grandfather and my mother who are currently battling the disease, that's three people who I've seen diagnosed with cancer in the past 6 months.

I'll try to keep this light.  This blog is about my quest to find a trophy wife. It's about the stupid shit I do as well as the illogical acts, Dating Crimes if you will, ( I have proposed that girls be brought up on dating crimes against humanity much like Mussolini was brought up on war crimes after WWII ) that girls commit which contribute to my singleness. However, I have to give a shout out to the Chunk. She's facing this ordeal with the courage of a toddler approaching a weekend at the Never-Land Ranch. You're not supposed to have cancer at 28. You're not supposed to lose your hair, have your career derailed and your personal life interrupted while approaching your zenith, but she knows life is not fair. Those that accept this truth are the ones that succeed at life. ( It also helps if you are born white - go ahead white people get angry at me for writing that! ) She's even started a blog to help cope with the events of the next few months. It's amusing and filled with the one thing she's always possessed - sometimes to her own fault - a stubborn courage.

Between my mother, my grandfather, and her I stand inspired every day.

Take care Chunky - if you need someone to shine your dome, you know who to call.