If there's one thing worse than having car trouble for most women, I'm not sure what it is. 

Maybe about all that really could compete is when you find out you're about to lose the woman who's been cutting your hair for a while because she's going to have a baby. And you find this out and you sit in her chair the last time before her maternity leave starts and you're absolutely dreading having to find someone else just when it's been so great because you're so used to the way you sit in her chair and just start chatting about life rather than giving her instructions, because you know she is going to make you look fab.

Or maybe it's worse when something goes wrong with your washer and you ask the super because he's a mechanical-type guy and you kinda think he'll know what to do to fix it but he looks at it a while and goes, "You'll need to just buy a new one" and you're thinking, "No way! C'mon, just kick it and make it work again."

It's just that I am devastated when something happens with my car because I'm totally clueless and I need my car so badly. When it breaks down, I open the hood and look in there and my normal competence with problems goes right out the window. Everything's electronic now so if it's not needing oil, I'm about at the end of what I know to do.

And I hate that. Absolutely hate it. Because I know I get ripped off at the mechanic's shop. I know they see a woman coming in there and no matter how tough you are to them, they know you don't really know and they can tell me anything and I end up doing what they say to do.

Then I'll say something later to some male friend who will widen his eyes and then giggle most obscenely and call all his male friends to tell them all about how I got talked into replacing some gizmo that has nothing to do with whatever went wrong with my car.

I hate that!

So the afternoon I was leaving work and it was cold and the car suddenly started making these weird chachunk noises and then sputtered to a stop?

This was me: "Oh, please, don't stop on me! Not in traffic! Not now that the light finally turned green! Please, I'll give you anything you want, little car, if you'll just live long enough for me to get to a gas station or at least over to the shoulder ... NO! Don't die on me! No! C'mon ... try again ... I know you can do it ... Please? For me? I'm the woman who's kept you well-fed with gas and kept you happy with oil and even washed you every so often and gave you new tires just last year ... you wouldn't do this to me, would you?"

And here's my car: "Chachunk a chachunkity ... cha-a-a-a ..." Silent treatment.

And here's the driver behind me: "You bleepity bleepity woman driver! Get your bleepity bleepity piece of shit off the road!"

And here's the nice redneck guys in the truck next to me: "Eh, keep yer fucking shirt on, ya preppie bastard! ... Hey, can we help, honey?"

So they pushed my car to the side of the road. They looked under the hood and mumbled to each other before telling me I needed a tow to take it to a service station. I probably blanched at that. That's like telling me to empty out my meager bank account, you know? And so soon after Christmas. It's not like I had so much extra cash laying around that I could just afford to be generous to some garage where the mechanics were even then probably rubbing their hands in glee because they could sense their next mortgage payment about to be towed in.

I called Chili.

Well, what else would you think I'd do? Chili knows people. I thought maybe he knew a mechanic who wouldn't dare rip off a friend of Chili's.

He did ... his name was Johnny. I went, "Johnny who? Do you have a phone number?"

He went, "Johnny Ryan. Try calling him at the pub."

I went, "Oh. Oh! THAT Johnny. Yeah, that's a great idea, Chili."

When I called the pub, though, Johnny wasn't there. But Sheila said she'd try and see if Andy had a number for him. I heard her calling through the bar to ask if he knew how to reach Johnny. And then I heard her saying about how I was stuck out on the side of the road and needed help. When she came back on the phone, she said someone would be by soon to wait with me and that meanwhile, Andy was going to track down either Dom, Colin or Johnny to come out there.

So I sat in my car and like ten minutes later, he pulled up. Him.

Him.

I closed my eyes for a second when I saw his car. And then I put on my friendly face and climbed out to greet him as he bent over to look under the hood.

"It's cold out here, Ann. Wait in my car," Max said, without really looking at me. Until I hesitated. Then he stood up and peered down at me. His voice was softer to say, "I've left the heater on for you."

So I crawled in the passenger seat of his car and relished the warm blast of air and the sound of a sweetly purring engine.

He slid in the driver's seat about fifteen minutes later and shrugged when I asked him what was wrong with my car. Then he kind of blushed and told me he didn't know anything really about cars anyway.

How he endeared himself to me when he'd reveal that kind of thing with this combination of chagrin and bluster. I tried hard not to log that in the adorable column. It was hard enough being alone with him without being reminded of how much I'd give to have the right to wrap my arms around him and kiss him hard for coming out there on that cold night to rescue me.

Instead, I babbled on to him all about my theory that mechanics took advantage of women. I said that I bet when he took his car in, he just glared at them a bit and they didn't even think about not telling him the truth. They'd assume you knew because you're a man ... and besides, they'd not want to mess with someone like you, I said.

He told me he couldn't believe he'd just heard me admit to letting any man take advantage of me.

Somewhere in that comment was a bit of an edge that I just didn't think I deserved but I didn't want to show I cared enough to rise to the bait. I looked off through the windshield. So we sat and made insipid conversation about the weather until Dom finally rolled up in his truck along with a friend who had a tow truck. And before long, they were taking my little car away and Dom promised he'd call me when he figured out what was wrong with it.

Max said he'd drive me home ... unless I preferred going with him to the pub. "The last thing I want is for Chili to see us out together. He'll get the wrong idea," I said.

"Or he'll get the right one," he said sharply. "He would treat you better if he thought himself in competition with a real man."

I looked over at him. "I don't want him to know the truth about that night."

"I understand he was with someone else that night. You shield him when you should be taking care not to let him hurt you instead."

"I know all about that. He assures me it was not what it seemed."

"And you believe him?" He gave me that annoyed 'tsk' he does.

I felt myself blush. I knew that to Max, a man of honor, it probably seemed Chili and I were ideally suited to each other on the one hand ... being as how we seemed to him to just be two liars lying to each other about what we were or weren't doing on Christmas Eve. But then again, Max thought I was in love with Chili. And he'd never made it anything but clear how little he thought of Chili.

And yet, I knew Max also thought Chili was a huge mistake for me ... that there was no way I should have been involved with him. I wondered about the loss of respect he probably had for me now. Would it affect the friendship I had with Max if he no longer respected me because I was close to Chili?

Imagine the irony in all this ... creating an illusionary involvement with Chili to give me cover and time to protect my friendship with Max only to have it be the cause of Max deciding he no longer wanted to be my friend? Man, it would so be in keeping with my luck.

"Let's don't talk about Chili anymore, okay?" I said, feeling rather miserable about this turn of events.

He nodded ... that brief movement he does that draws conversation to a close.

"How about instead, we just be nice and friendly to each other. We seem to know how to do that pretty well when we're in public, don't we? Let's don't be ugly to each other when we're alone like this, okay?" I asked him.

And for that, I got his full gaze as he pulled to a stop at a red light. And then a soft smile from him as he blinked a few times. He put his hand over mine as it rested on my thigh. He squeezed it and then nodded again, only this time it was not quite so abrupt.

"Your hand is cold," he said. "Why don't we stop some place warm? Neither of us has eaten dinner; surely your Mr. Palmer would have no objection to you dining with a friend on a night that's gone so poorly for you?"

I wanted to not do this; I was resolved to keep things light and friendly between us. To not look at him and feel my chest ache. To not read things into his attention. The only way to really do that was to avoid him until it stopped hurting to be around him.

But I was looking in his eyes when he said that to me. He was issuing a challenge, daring me ... but he was also gruffly trying to induce me to remember that he was dealing with the heartbreak of remaining on the outs with the woman he loved. And he wanted to be sheltered within the friendly company of someone who knew about what was happening with him without him having to talk about it. He was struggling; too proud to just say he was lonely. Surely I could shove my own pain back into its box in order to ease his? I cared so much about him.

"Why not? All I've got at home is some lettuce and a frozen dinner," I said with a shrug.

He took me to some neighborhood Italian joint that was bright and bustling and smelled mouth-watering. I did a double take when he removed his overcoat just before taking his seat. He was dressed in a black suit with a black shirt and a black matte tie. As he settled in across from me, I suddenly noticed that his hair had a bit of styling gel in it. It looked ... well, I mean, could he ever really look bad? But still ... it was odd. I mean, it was one thing to see Johnny, Dom and Colin show up at New Year's Eve dressed like Chili-wannabes -- it was a whole other matter to see Maximus looking stiffly ill at ease in a get-up that Chili would have worn with aplomb.

I couldn't help myself. I said, "Max, you look ... um ... different. Very dapper and all."

He shifted around a bit before asking, "Do you like it?"

"Um. Sure. It'll take some getting used to, is all. But Chili sure would be flattered," I teased him.

He gave me this mock-glare and then blushed just a bit before glancing around the restaurant. After the waiter poured us each a glass of Chianti, Max said, "I had thought perhaps a more ... polished look might be worth considering. The women all find him charming. You find him charming."

"So, just be honest now. This make-over? Is this about impressing a certain woman to take another look? Like say ... Eris? She never struck me as someone who didn't already like how you dressed and looked."

"Eris?" He shook his head and pursed his lips, as if frustrated. Finally, he blurted out, "She has moved away. A job transfer. It was very sudden."

"What? But you and her ..." I blinked under his scrutiny, knowing I was venturing into a private area he wanted me to stay out of. "I'm sorry, I hadn't known that. You never got a chance to work it out then? Or was that what was going on between you over Christmas?"

He shook his head in annoyance and stared at his fingertips upon the tablecloth. "Some things are not meant for me, are they?"

I put my hand atop his. "Oh, Max. I'm so sorry."

"I don't need your pity, Ann."

"It's not pity. You know I'm in your corner."

"Are you?" His solemn eyes came to mine.

"Always, Max. We're always friends."

So I didn't actually ask him anything else. And he never really told me anything. We rather ate the whole meal without saying much about much. I kept looking at him for signs that this was what he needed.

But after sharing a bottle of Chianti, I was feeling very relaxed ... first time with him in far too long, really. These three women were sitting at a table near us and I noticed this one leggy brunette kept giving Max the eye.

"Well, God knows that kind of attention must at least make you realize you haven't lost it," I grumbled to him.

"Lost what?" he asked, looking where I'd indicated. She smiled at him and winked. He frowned and looked back at me.

"Your sex appeal, Maximus. What else?" When his frown deepened, I rolled my eyes at him. "Although she could really give it a rest, couldn't she? I mean, for all she knows, we're together."

He didn't say anything in response. Just fumbled with his napkin. I used the opportunity to study him. Beneath everything, I wondered what was going on inside him. He'd dropped his guard with me only so far; he was a deep one. I would never have known his lover had left, moved away, if I hadn't just blundered into it. It sure explained a lot.

He could be that way; it could frustrate me. I don't know why men can be so tough to read, the way they shut down these parts of themselves and only give you the surface. But then there are times, aren't there, when they show you inside, deep inside, and ... it's all worth it then, isn't it?

If he'd been a book, I would have spread his pages and read all the subtext about how he was hurting over whatever was going on. Instead, how well he hid from you if he wanted to. But there were little tells. The way he'd purse his lips when he didn't realize I was looking at him. The careful formality he'd adopted with me every so often in the evening. The pettiness of his words about Chili, because when a person's down on love, he's downright cynical about everyone else's love, isn't he? His terse words to me earlier, as if testing to see if he was going to drive me away, too.

Well, dammit, I wasn't going to let him do that. He needed a friend in his corner right now. That was going to be me. He could be as big an ass as he was capable of being to me and I was going to just overlook it and be his friend. I could do that. Right?

He finally motioned for the bill. I wanted to pay half; he just gave me a look and I knew that was hopeless. And before I knew it, he was helping me on with my coat and asking me if I had plans for Friday night. He must have felt me stiffen.

"I only asked because you once mentioned to me that you like symphonies. And I had ... or rather, I have tickets for Friday's performance by the philharmonic orchestra ... I got them ... before ... but now I find myself ..."

"Without a companion?"

"Yes." He was looking off when I turned toward him. "You would not have to tell ... anyone. Simply use the other ticket or it would go to waste."

The thing that got to me was his dignity and how he'd placed it at risk just then. The chance he'd taken that I'd not understand how hard that must have been for him, how humbling. To admit to me that he was having a hard time adjusting to the turn of events, the loss of his love. I imagined him going to the concert on his own, the empty seat next to him a reminder of his pain.

"I do like the symphony, Max." He gave me this expectant but wary smile. Poor guy. "Yeah, I would really like to go with you. And don't worry about Chili. You're right, he doesn't have to know a thing."

I could just imagine what Chili would do with this. First I have dinner with Max, then I go to the symphony. He'd draw all the wrong conclusions ... plus, he'd start trying to shove me back in the direction of manipulating Max into some corner. I just wouldn't tell Chili. That's all there was to it.

"I had made dinner reservations at the same time I obtained the concert tickets," he said almost brusquely. "Would you do me the favor of joining me for a late dinner following the symphony performance? I understand it is quite a nice restaurant."

"Oh, man. I don't know, Max," I said, pretending to really mull this over as he buttoned his coat. "You're a real imposition on my busy social calendar, you know. And all you're offering me is a night of culture and fine dining? Hmmm. I don't know."

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Are you not ready for that amount of culture, Ann? It would, after all, require a woman of some class to carry it off."

I burst out laughing at his rather ham-fisted attempt to goad me ... he always did enjoy his ability to push my buttons. "Well, thanks, Max. I'll remember that you think I have no class!"

"Then here is your chance to prove me wrong."

"You think you got it all figured out, don't you? Box me right into a corner where I have to say yes?" We faced each other, both biting back on grins. I put out my hand. "Okay, then. We'll just see which of us can deal with the culture bit better."

Max tried so hard to make it like a real date. But maybe too hard, you know? For all the forced gaiety, there was just something a bit off. He seemed jumpy ... I wanted him to not actively regret that it was me he was with rather than her. I am not sure I was entirely successful.

I met him at the concert hall. I didn't want to take the chance that Chili would see him drive up to get me. I saw him standing just outside the main entrance, right where he said he'd be. I paused before I went up the stairs and just looked at him. God. This was going to be torture, I told myself. I just hoped that I didn't do any active daydreaming that the pretend date was real.

Inside the concert hall, we checked our coats and I checked out his duds. He must have really gone into the Chili look in a big way ... he was wearing another dark suit. At least this time he wasn't wearing all black, but that deep charcoal shirt and matching tie was exactly the kind of look Chili would have worn. It looked good on Max ... it just seemed an affectation.

But I complimented him anyway because if this was the direction he was choosing to go in, who was I to advise him to go another way? After all, I was the one still letting Chili tell me how to dress.

Speaking of which ... Max didn't exactly tell me he liked the outfit I'd worn. But I rather liked the effect it had on him when he helped me off with my coat. Okay, okay ... I admit that when I was choosing what to wear, I did have this little fantasy that he'd be standing just as he was ... behind me ... as he slipped my coat down ... and that he'd have just a momentary twinge that I was out of play for him now.

Is that mean of me? I mean, I didn't want to twist the knife ... but I did feel just the basest satisfaction at his reaction. He did that rapid blinking he used to do when he'd first see me in some naughty bra or thong that I'd hidden under those demure clothes I used to wear. The dress I was wearing that night, though, was not demure. It was a wee bit short ... it had a high neckline in the front but the back was mostly crisscrossed tiny straps. I was wearing my hair up ... just for him to get the full impact of the view as he removed my coat.

Well, then let me admit the rest since I'm on a roll ... nothing else went quite so smoothly for me after that.

Well, but of course not.

First off, I excused myself for a trip to the ladies room while he went to get us drinks and while I was in there, I snagged my knee on the counter as I bent over it to get close to the mirror so I could freshen my lipstick. Startled by the feel of something digging into those fragile oh-so-sheer black stockings, I laid a wayward path with my lipstick. It rather wandered halfway down my chin. To get the dark lipstick off, I had to scrub rather hard with a paper towel. Which left my chin looking red and splotchy ... and littered it with remnants of the paper. Flustered, I looked down at my hose and tried to adjust them so there would be no extra strain on the snag. Instead, I simply started this way-too-obvious run. Everything I tried just made the run worse and before I knew it, it chased from my knee up my thigh and under my hem.

This woman came in and she offered me a vial of clear nail polish to stop the damage. As I unscrewed the cap, I spilled it on my dress, which was velvet so that glob showed appropriately well.

By then, I was sweating and totally off my game. Whatever my game might have been. I looked in the mirror and considered what Chili might have told me to do. He would have had me practice 'the look.' So I did. Only all that concentration on top of every other bit of tension I was feeling made one of my eyes start watering. I dabbed at it with the paper towel ... which left more gritty white papery remnants. Which meant I had to try to fix my makeup. Which smeared. Which made my eye water more. Which made my mascara run.

By the time I left there with red eyes, a rather bad makeup job, a stained dress and an obvious run up the front of my leg, I was waiting on a gibe from Max to complete the humiliation. So as soon as he opened his mouth and told me he'd wondered where I'd disappeared to for so long and here was a drink ... I said something about gentlemen were never supposed to be so rude as to notice when a lady was in the bathroom for a while. And he gave me that hard look of his as I slugged the drink down. And then he slapped me on the back a few times when I choked on the champagne. And then both my eyes were watering. Again.

But mercifully, the lights flickered and it was time to find our seats. Which were excellent, I might add. And on my seat, a small, clear box adorned with a ribbon was lying ... and inside it was a lavender orchid corsage. I picked it up and just looked at him. He must have forgotten he'd arranged that surprise for her ... because he seemed nonplussed and stuttered out that he'd had it ordered ... and it was corsage and did I want him to pin it on me and was it okay that he'd done that? Trust that Max actually had gone to that much effort for her. Dammit ... so he could be a romantic, too? It's not fair.

But I tell you what ... He stepped in close to pin it on me and he smelled so good. And after it was on, he just looked at me and gave me this shy grin and asked me if I liked it, that he remembered I liked getting flowers. I kissed his cheek as thanks; he blushed. Dammit. He had to stop doing that around me.

When we sat down, I crossed my legs and his big hand stroked over the run in my hose ... and just as I was about to say, 'yeah, I know I look like such a slob with a run' ... he leaned in and told me how beautiful I looked that evening and how very grateful he was that I had joined him. If he hadn't picked up his program and immediately begun studying it, I might have never recovered from how much that hurt to hear. Instead, I sat there in the darkened theater and blinked back tears.

By intermission, I was a new woman. Music has power to soothe the flustered broad, eh?

We wandered around the lobby, sipping wine and chatting about our workweek. He told me how he'd been playing a CD all week of symphonic music that was being featured at the philharmonic performance that night ... so much so that he'd been ribbed for humming one of the overtures that afternoon as he'd been in some boring staff meeting. I found the image of that so unbelievable as to be cute.

If you think that's embarrassing, I said, I can one-up you on that. He started chuckling when I told him what had happened in the ladies room before the performance. He teased me that he had just known I wasn't cut out for culture.

During the last part of the performance, I sat next to him and thought about how this was going between us. It was actually going pretty well. I'd been nervous to be alone with him ... dreaded it actually. But I was trying so hard that it was beginning to work.

There was even a time when the music enveloped me and I forgot all about where I was and who I was with. And he did, as well. As the piece melted away amidst the pause before applause, our eyes met and I thought his smile seemed more carefree. As if maybe he had slipped back in time to when we first met and his future had not yet brought him another lost love.

He insisted on driving me in his car to the restaurant. I wanted to just meet him there but he would have none of it. As I was about to walk off anyway and just get my car, he put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Look at me, Ann."

I swear, even Chili would have been paying heed to that look. Still, as I let him lead me away, I teased him about first affecting Chili's style of dress and then starting to sound like him. Next thing we know, I told Max, you'll be trying to work deals and talking with a Brooklyn accent.

No way am I going to repeat what he muttered under his breath. I pretended that I never heard it.

I tripped walking in the restaurant. If Max hadn't caught me, I would have done more than just break off the heel of my pump. Inside my brain, I was cursing my innate clumsiness ... not even able to walk down three lousy cement stairs without tottering on these heels. But they were high ... and I don't actually walk in them that much. And I was cold. And I was busy gawking at the people coming out of the place ... and remembering that I wasn't looking quite so hot what with all the minor disasters of makeup and nail polish and runs.

And then I broke the damned heel. Max clucked at me and told me to simply take the shoes off. I looked at him like he'd grown another head. He didn't push it. Just gave me his arm and acted all dignified and above it all.

When the maitre d' seated us, I waited for Max to say something to bring me down the rest of the pegs I had to go. When he didn't, I sat there feeling foolish to remember that we'd grown out of that particular stage of our relationship. Not that he didn't occasionally do something on purpose to get me hot under my collar, but it wasn't like how he treated me when we first really interacted in the pub.

My God, but he used to pick at me. And no matter how hard I tried to get him back, it never quite worked. He'd kind of purse his lips and I'd end up feeling about two years old. When things changed ... when we became intimate ... I accused him of having done it on purpose.

"Do you remember when we first met?" he asked me.

At first startled that he'd apparently been thinking along the same lines I had been, I recovered by rolling my eyes at him. "Yes. And it should have ended there!"

He gave me that certain look of his; it used to make me so angry; I seem to tolerate it so much easier now. "It was in the bookstore," he said sternly.

"That was the first time we spoke, wasn't it?" I asked him, wondering if he even knew that we'd actually crossed paths before that day. But he nodded at me and I knew he had never even noticed me; but I had noticed him. What woman wouldn't?

"Uma introduced us," he prodded me.

"Yes, she did. You were sitting in one of the big armchairs, surrounded by books. You were so serious about them."

"You had come looking for a reference manual on crafting a new resume," he said softly.

My eyes dropped to my fingertips. "That's right. I'd been laid off not long before that."

"You barely spoke to me."

"You intimidated me."

"I remember wondering how much more beautiful your eyes would look if a genuine smile ever crossed your face."

My eyes swept up to his. "I remember how you were not very welcoming to me when I first stopped by to see Uma in the pub."

"Was I not welcoming?" He cocked an eyebrow at me.

"No. In fact, you were very arrogant. Very. You thought I'd come in there just to see you."

"Did I? Are you sure this is what I was feeling?"

"Yes! Admit it! You assumed I wanted to go out with you and when I turned you down, you started going out of your way to push my buttons," I said as I pointed a finger at him and shook my head even as I couldn't hide the grin at the memory of how he always seemed to never miss a chance to annoy me the times he'd see me in the pub. "God, you used to make me feel like such an idiot and such a child. I hated that."

His chin jutted up and that look of arrogance that had once intimidated me was there again. "Your buttons were always easy to push, Ann. I never had to try very hard to wind you up."

"See? You admit it!"

"I admit I enjoyed engaging you. You are a spirited opponent for any man." His hand touched the top of mine. "But it wasn't arrogance that made me act that way around you. I was interested in you. I knew you were interested in me, yet you were afraid of me and wouldn't act on that interest."

I swallowed hard. This had turned into an area I didn't want to tread. I hadn't even really thought he'd noticed that so early on ... but he was so right. Perhaps all this time it's been more about a crush on him than anything. I tried to remember when it turned to friendship.

It was after our first time of intimacy. When he cared for me that first morning. When he kept coming back around my place and would not accept anything else but that we get to know each other.

"I suppose you're right, Max," I said softly. I slipped my hand from under his, patted his knuckles and then picked up my wine glass. "Thankfully we're past that, aren't we?"

"Past the interest in each other, you mean?" he asked me. He stared at me, his mouth pursed. Daring me.

My buttons might be easy for him to push, but I have the ability sometimes to not respond. "Past the awkward times of first getting to know each other. Now it's so much better, isn't it? Being friends? I value your friendship so much."

When he took me back to where I'd left my car, he insisted on walking me right to it because he apparently wasn't sure I was strong enough to open the door.

Okay. I jest.

He let me open the door all by myself.

But then he made this really sweet statement about how he only ever wished the best for me. And he held out his hand and we shook on it.

I don't know when it's going to really stop hurting to be with him. But at least I can now carry on a conversation without feeling like my heart's drowning. At least now I can really laugh at his jokes.

It's something.

And meanwhile, there are a lot of other things in my life.

There's Chili ... who's found a house and wants me to tag along while he goes furniture shopping. I've said yes, on the condition that I get to pick out the dishes and all the kitchen appliances. I don't know why but there's something about gadgets that I love. I even like reading the instruction manuals. He says that's okay but that I have to promise to let him teach me how to make pasta by hand ... no electric pasta maker, he insists. We'll see.

There's Buck ... who loves Chili's new house because there are untold opportunities to claim the territory in the landscaped and fenced-in back yard. Maybe you'd have to own an Alpha dog to understand what I mean by claiming territory? I keep wondering where he stores all that urine. He also tags along with me to Johnny's garage where I seem to be spending more time lately because the guys there are fun to hang around with. Buck revels in the atmosphere there.

Actually, Buck keeps me on the move in general and for that I'm grateful. I've even met other dog lovers through Buck. Besides our evening walks on the levee where he romps and plays with other dogs while I either watch the sun sink or gab with fellow owners, he's graduated from his basic obedience class with such flair that he has been accepted into an advanced group. The instructors think Buck's the bomb and want me to start entering him into these AKC obedience trial competitions. I went to one a few weekends before Christmas, just to see. It's all very intense and I imagine I will be terrified the first time I step into the ring with Buck. He'll eat it up, though, because the dog loves attention.

Yeah, and there's Johnny ... who has fixed my car and restored my faith in mechanics. Well, in mechanics with his adorable face and feisty personality. I've been hanging out with him and Dom while they are having a blast teaching me about cars even if they do roll on the floor laughing at some of my questions. They let me do my first tune up the other day and we did it on Terry's Jag. Don't tell him; he'd be furious. This weekend, I am going to help them do an engine overhaul or something to Uma's 'vintage' MG. And by vintage, I mean old. And that's charitable.

I've learned a lot about cars in this way. And it occurs to me that the world might be a better place if men were a lot more like cars.

Wouldn't that be nice though?

But they're not like cars, are they? They don't have any kind of instruction manual. You can't just order the model you want with all the features you prefer. You can't trade them in. You can't even donate them to charity.