We are sitting at the dinner table, our usual place of brainstorming because ideas like food too. Towards the end of dinner, when I see that certain glistening of a happy Cheshire cat in B’s eyes, I decide it’s time to pick his brain.
“You know, a friend of mine has missed their anniversary. Just plain forgot about it and her husband got upset, understandably,” I say. “What do you think would be a good way for her to rectify this situation?”
B keeps mopping up the steak juices with a piece of bread, possibly considering the noise around him as AnnaFM, a radio station local to our house.
“Come on, what is your male perspective on this?” I nudge him.
“Well, what about having sex with him?” he suggests. This coming from a person who holds season tickets to two theater, collects limited-edition pens and has a PhD.
“You mean that’s it? Just have sex?” I was thinking along the lines of dinner under the stars, skinny dipping, chocolate dipped marshmallows, the new version of Xbox 360. Maybe even volunteering to host a Superbowl party for all his friends.
B. pours us tea and says,
“Well, if she truly wants to make it special, how about doing it twice?”