by Nelly Smith

Created on: November 26, 2008

Men never cease to infuriate the hell out of me, even when they aren't trying. I love them, but sometimes, I just want to take my hands and place them firmly around whichever neck I'm dating and shake vigorously until he either A) drops dead, or B) comes to his senses and realizes he's been acting like an idiot (fat chance of that). Men amaze me with their prosaic thinking in the most romantic of situations. For example, many years ago, I was with a man, we will call him "Paul." He was a model freak. No, not that kind of model: the kind that has four wheels or two wings and sits on a shelf collecting dust.It was Valentine's Day. I had spent weeks searching for one particular airplane model I knew he wanted to no avail (he was a WWII nut). So at the last minute, I decided to by a skimpy negligee and barely-there underwear as his gift. When I presented myself in this gift, he, of course loved it, but he hadnot bought anything for me. Biting my tongue and exhibiting an enormous amount of patience, I said, "Honey, Wal-Mart has flowers cheap. You can buy me a little bouquet for $10."He hemmed and hawed, stating all the good bouquets might be gone, because he'd been too busy working to go out and buy me something. I didn't want to argue that if I'd had time to search for his gift, he did, too. Instead, I simply looked at him and smiled. He finally agreed and asked if I wanted something to eat.I told him to buy something that could easily be eaten in bed (thinking whipped cream and strawberries) but I would leave it up to him to decide. I thought I'd made it clear from my actions that I wanted something to have a little "fun" with. Forty-five minutes later he arrived home with a bouquet of red roses and what looked to be a tub of whipped cream in the bag."Well," I thought to myself, "This will be a fun night!" Wearing my skimpy little outfit, I slinked into the kitchen to check out the purchases and discovered the tub contained not whipped cream, but ready-made sloppy joes. He looked at me and asked, "Honey is this ok? I hope you don't mind if I eat first, I'm starving."Apparently, the batting of my eyelashes and stroking of his chest while saying "something easily eaten in bed" wasn't enough to get his Cro-Magnon brain to read between the lines.So instead of complaining, like I could have, I said it was fine, went back into our bedroom and watched "My Big Fat Greek Wedding," while eating my sloppy joe, of course.

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