He even explained with a vigor I wasn’t sure I had ever seen before, that if he and I were nearby out on the road, we could call to each other and tune to another channel where we could talk privately. That’s when I went to that quiet little place in my brain where I sing songs to tune out what I don’t want to hear.

100 bottles of beer on the wall, 100 bottles ...

Now mind you, this was in the pre-everyone-including-your-family-pet-has-a-cellphone days and we did live in the mountains, and we did have some windy, dangerous, lonely roads to travel. Roads where if you did break down it would be handy to have a-------CB to call for help and while somewhere in my newlywed brain I recognized he was showing his love, care and concern for me by getting me this------CB. But at this point nothing could console me. For the first time since the doctor’s slap in the delivery room, I was speechless.

A day or so later, when it was obvious to Hank– by my one word answers – and sentences that something was wrong – and of course I kept insisting that nothing was – he called in the big guns.

He called my mother.

“Do you know what’s wrong with her?” he asked my succinct and to the point mom.

“EEEE-Yup,” came the wise reply. “You don’t give a Jewish girl appliances for special occasions,” came the mom-wisdom.

“The CB?” he queried. “She didn’t like the CB?”

“Not as a Valentine’s Day present, she didn’t.”

“Oy,” came the reply from my Roman Catholic husband.

Years later, when I made the talk show rounds in my previous life as a so called “relationship expert,” one of the most oft asked questions from women was always, how do I make my husband more romantic. And the men were always incredulous because they thought they were romantic.

It’s like seeing the glass half-full or half-empty; romance is generally in the eye of the beholder. I was a girl, I wanted bling, or a girly expression of his love. He was my new protector, he was showing so much love in making sure I was protected. Sometimes the disconnect comes despite everyone doing the right thing for the right reason. It’s the Venus and Mars dilemma.

With the years, came skin tags, character lines, and a whole lot of wisdom. Most of us fantasize about romance, thirst for it in fact–even men. If you don’t water your plants, they’ll wither and die. If you don’t eat, you will. Then why do most people believe that romance just happens? That it has the power to invigorate itself? It doesn’t. It needs to be nurtured. Especially after an extended relationship. In the beginning everything is romantic. (Except CBs) “The way he holds a glass is so sexy,” we tell our friends. “The way she licks her lips makes my blood boil,” he says to his.

A mortgage, two kids, recession scares and a couple of car payments later and it’s, “Why can’t he just hold the glass like a normal person?” And “She should carry chapstick if her lips are so dry.”

In MY life I have learned, it never was the gift. It’s making the effort that’s romantic. Instead of just buying the requisite bunch of roses, it’s running a warm bath and sprinkling rose petals for her that will drive her wild. It’s showing how much you love and care for him by writing a sexy note and slipping it into his briefcase where he’ll see it when he least expects it. It’s making the person in your life just simply feel like they really matter to you. Someone demonstrating you matter is what’s so romantic. Going that extra mile to not make them feel like buying the gift was an after-thought or obligation, but something, even the smallest gesture done, simply because you wanted them to KNOW, you care. That’s what keeps love alive and relationships afloat.
It’s buying a – CB to protect and keep someone you love safe. So to the ‘ole HankyPank from Minnie Mouth – after multiple decades of clarity- I still love you – over and out.