A long, long time ago, there was a man named Trog. He was a well respected and admired man. He was a caveman by blood, but his hut-making skills rapidly placed him among the more advanced of his kind. You could say he was a member of the Elite… he lived in a hut. Trog always minded his ‘Slag’s and ‘Norg’s, and always gnawed all the meat off his bone.
Also among his people lived a ‘beautiful’ young woman named Goldenhare. She always dressed in the finest, gold rabbits fur (before they became extinct, of course) and always accessorized with the latest small, rodent-bone fashions. Many say she got the name Goldenhare because of her long, flowing blonde hair. But that wasn’t the case at all. Not only did she not have blonde hair, but it didn’t flow either. In fact, she had tangled, ratty, brown hair and she was just about as average a girl as there was in the village. I’m sure someone once new why she was named Goldenhare… but I’m also sure that that person died long, long ago.
One day, Trog approached Goldenhare.
“My name Trog.”
“My name Goldenhare.”
Then Trog, because he was one of the more gentlemanly cavemen, said,
“Me want you.”
And with a swift swing of his club (because he was still a caveman, whether gentlemanly or not) he hit Goldenhare on the head, knocking her unconscious. She ‘gracefully’ fell to the ground with a ‘Thud!’. And Trog grabbed her by the hair and dragged her to his hut.
And I’m pretty sure they lived happily ever after. (I definitely didn’t hear any Trog-Goldenhare drama from the tablet-bloids or the local watering hole.)
Now, thousands of years later, getting hitched isn’t that easy. I think clubbing a girl would get me battery, assault with a deadly weapon, kidnapping, and various other charges that would result in a hefty jail sentence. Not to mention a hefty jail roommate with ‘hefty’ jail experience.
That being said, lets take a look at how it works today.
A strapling young man named Robret meets a beautiful, aspiring artist named Nicolette (both names have been changed to protect their identity). They seem to hit it off and Robret decides he likes this girl.
“Would you like to go out with me?” he asks.
“You can buy me dinner,” she replies.
After the exchanging of phone numbers, IT has officially begun.
Robret texts her just to chip off a little more of the ice. He calls… no answer. He leaves her a voicemail and sends her an e-mail, but not before posting on her Facebook, Myspace, and Twitter accounts. He texts her again…
“Lets hike- Sat @ 8.”
“Is dinner included?” she responds.
“Uh… brkfst?”
For the next several months this pattern continues: text, call, dinner, call, canoeing, dinner and a movie, call, text, text, picnic lunch, call, dancing, dinner, dinner, dinner, text, dinner, text.
The next thing he knows, he’s sitting across the table from her parents in a fancy, 6-star restaurant blabbing about his 5 stroke handicap (golf) and his 4 hour tug-o-war with 3 marlins off the Florida Keys.
Two minutes later, Robret passes the test and gains the approval of 1 typically un-approving father.
On the way home Robret decides it’s time.
"Will you marry me?" he asks.
"No," she responds without hesitation.
"What if I give you this huge, sparkling rock?" as he pulls a red felted box from his pocket.
"Maybe..."
"It's expensive."
"Ok.” Nicolette finally concedes. “But you have to take me to a fancy restaurant and buy me a shiny accessory every year until I die.”
It's amazing what jewelry will do to a girl... it’s amazing what dinner will do to a girl.
And so, as a congratulatory gesture to the recent engagement of Bret and Niki, (I mean, Robret and Nicollette) I say: Atta boy, Bret. Way to club a good one.
