I’m sitting here in Firestorm at my favorite table, the one in the back corner next to the reading lamp. Yah, at my age I need a reading lamp to work on a computer. Don’t laugh, if you’re lucky enough to live that long, you’ll need one some day too.
I’m kinda half writing, half day-dreaming and half eavesdropping. Yep, I know that there are three half’s there, but this is my blog, so deal with it.
I’m eavesdropping on a conversation going on about three tables over. Some guy with earrings sipping on a cup of coffee and some girl with dreadlocks and tattoos are sitting there having a conversation about, what appears to be, the end of the great love affair of the century.
Secretly, I admire his steadfastness in the face of all the things she says to show why their great union has to end. I quietly cheer him on as she gives him reason after reason for wanting to break up. He takes it like a man, thinks for a moment and responds with a guaranteed reason why she needs to continue to travel this journey called life with him.
And then she doesn’t play fair. She pulls out the one weapon that women have been using since Eve first gave Adam the apple to snack on. She plays the last card in her hand – the one that has sent grown men running off to join the French Foreign Legion or the carnival, whichever is closest. She stares at him with those baby blue eyes, flashes her crooked mouth grin that always made his heart skip and utters the most terrifying words ever to be heard by any mortal man: “We can still be friends”.
And then “it” happened: BAM! CRASH! …and I ducked as the guy’s coffee cup plowed into the wall about five inches from my head.
While I was busy recovering from seeing my life flash before my eyes, I got to thinking. Why is it women always say, “We can still be friends”? And why do we guys find those five little words to be the most traumatic words we ever hear. Well, other than, “Hey y’all, watch this…”.
First, men and women are different. Well duh! No, I mean it. Other than the differences that are obvious, I think that if you look hard enough you’ll see that men and women are not only different, but are really two entirely different species of animals.
Second, I think sometimes the fear in a man’s heart comes from the fact that he was never a friend to the lady in the first place. He never took the time to get to know her as a person. He never took the time to find out what her favorite color is – what make and model was her first car – or the name of the first pet she owned. He never took the time to set on the picnic table outside the Krispy Kreme at two o’clock in the morning eating a half dozen sugar delivery devices called donuts, drinking coffee and listening intently to her talk about her dreams for the future and her regrets from the past.
So who knows. Maybe, just maybe, if a guy is patient enough and is man enough to be friends first then he’ll never have to hear those five little words.
Me? You’ll still be able to find me at my favorite table in Firestorm. I’ll be in the corner in the back working on my computer with a reading lamp close by and nursing another cup of coffee. If you come in looking for me and happen to see several dudes that fit that description, I’ll still be easy to pick out. I’ll be the one wearing a batters helmet.