“Women are not the sensitive sex. Men are the true romanticists.” -Cary Grant

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My Friday Angel,

They laughed at me. Mocked and ridiculed me–for a moment at least.

My former college buddies–all now either married or relationshipped–made me the butt of the collective joke recently when I mentioned my ideal date.

Not since the late ’90s had we gotten together for a man-tribe reunion of sorts. It was great seeing everybody–the laughter nonstop.

Of course the conversation eventually turned to women: What keeps them interested; How to keep the candle kindled; Why they take good men for granted once corralled . . . and other questions and mysteries.

I remained church-mouse quiet during this phase of the multilogue. At one time I felt I knew at least some of the answers. But time has taught me otherwise. You never truly know a woman . . . .

Just when you think you may, she metamorphoses. That’s not blanket or generalized, no. And it’s not necessarily intentional on your part. It’s just that . . . satisfaction is elusive. Seems to be.

I said to the group, “When she gets into your car and if she settles into the passenger seat, releases all vestiges of on-guardness in her body language, turns to you with no words but rather the eye language that says, ‘Take me wherever you want, I trust you,’ . . . well, something special has occurred. Yours is the only passenger seat that matters. Regardless of the make and model of the vehicle.”

The tribe became deathly quiet. I’m no oracle, no. I just shared my observation. And then–this is where I lost them to the funny, the “Man, please!”–I shared my ideal date, regardless of time.

“Whatever happened to the banana split?” I posed. After a round of mocking laughter, someone said, “I know you don’t mean a date? Take her out for an ice cream?! Man, please!” Full-throated belly laughs everywhere.

Until our server, who happened to be within earshot of our conversation while bringing over the dinner check, said, “I think that’s so sweet, a banana split date. I wish my guy would agree to something like that.”

Deathly quiet, our table. I was smiling like a schoolboy who’d finally beaten up the campus bully after being fed up with having his lunch money taken daily.

It’s Pamper-Her-Friday, woman. The corner ice cream shop agreed to my business proposal of “Banana Split Fridays”: Couples who come in after having liked the shop’s facebook page will enjoy a free made-to-order banana boat. Two spoons optional.

He said since he’s implemented the promotion, sales volume has increased by 40%. The bananas are hardly able to turn deep yellow because of the turnover.

So, what do you say? The banana split is back. We’ll call it a comeback. And you’re the only woman I’ll allow to double-dip.

The cherry on top? Yours. Why?

It’s Pamper-Her-Friday, Love.

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Romance: Call it a comeback! -Rg2

© 2013 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®