A friend of mine has been dating a metrosexual. It has become the topic of many conversations among the divas lately.

In the event that you don't what that is, let me explain.

A metrosexual is a trend-driven, metropolitan kind of guy who likes to date girls but likes to primp like us, too.

In short, it is a guy who is attracted to the opposite sex but routinely participates in the joys of manicures, pedicures, color highlights, facials and shopping sprees for trendy clothes and Italian shoes.

The only difference between the divas and them is the height of our heels.

"Doesn't that bother you?" I asked Penelope Ann over lunch one day. "Are you comfortable with a guy who fusses over his appearance so much?"

She shrugged and took a bite of quiche. "I want a guy who takes pride in his appearance."

"Yes, but do you want one who's prettier than you?" I shuddered. The mere thought of it made me push my lunch away.

I knew that would get her. Penelope Ann hates to be out-prettied.

"Well, I never thought of it that way," she said, easing her words out slowly. "Do you think he's prettier than me?"

I chose my words carefully. "I think that on certain occasions he has appeared to be better maintained."

That was an understatement. This guy, when he is turned out in his finest, would put a Vogue cover model to downright shame.

He has fetching blue eyes framed by long lashes, which I swear, he must curl; a perfect complexion with non-clogged pores; gorgeous, well-conditioned hair and the thinnest thighs I have ever seen on a guy.

I never thought that I'd envy a guy's thighs. That's unnatural.

Her eyes bulged, but I continued. After all, we divas have to protect each other. "And those shimmering highlights in his blonde hair are to die for. I told Claudette that she should try his hairdresser. I think she'd be much happier with her hair if she did."

Penelope Ann nodded absent-mindedly, took a sip of water then changed the subject to talk about Claudette's colorful collection of in-laws, which is another popular topic among the divas. We keep a running tally of which one's in jail, which one's on the run and which one just got out.

A few days later, Penelope Ann called. "I had a talk with Casey," she reported in a stoic tone. "I told him that I couldn't continue to date a guy that is prettier and better maintained than me."

"What did he say?" I was eager to hear.

"That I had a point. That he had noticed how I had fallen behind on my facials and if he was going to continue to date me, I needed to do something because it was unacceptable for him to date a woman who struggles with an occasional pimple."

I gasped. "Surely not!"

"Yes, he did." She cleared her throat. "So, I am no longer dating Casey."

I'm happy about that. No self-respecting diva should date a man who is prettier than she is. I am especially resolute in my belief that we should not be dating men with thinner thighs than us.

I'm telling you: that's completely unnatural. And uncalled for.