In my younger and more vulnerable years, my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since.

And when I say, turning over I mean my brain is flipping like a flapjack in a sizzling skillet.

Before I forget, he said, “If you can’t blind them with brilliance, baffle them with nonsense.”

Truer words were never spoken. Had they been spoken, the speaker wouldn’t stand much of a chance, would he?

So, dad’s words followed me into the field of romance. I asked Bolognia Sylvetti to a  romantic lunch.

“Can we go to a restaurant that serves breakfast at any time?” she asked, inquisitively.

“Sure, my little magpie,” I responded. “How about the Dark Ages?”

Then, there was Tulip Haggerty. I held her in my arms, whispered sweet nothings into her ears, and spouted free poetry.

She shrugged her shoulders and said, “You never stop talking! I love the sound of your sweet voice, but you never say anything I want to hear!”

It was then that I realized the less words spoken, the louder it gets.  Also, whispers are much too loud for most women to take.

I had learned my lesson when I went out with Twinkie Sobletzky. That was when I learned to talk about nothing. It’s the only thing I know everything about.

When I struck out with Twinkie, I re-thought my father’s advice. If my voice could speak, it would speak my disagreement.

But, I just wasn’t in the mood.

If I had a list of people I didn’t want to see when I was in a mood to see anyone, he would be at the top of the list.