“Hey, Ralphie. How was your big date with Sally?”

“A complete disaster, Harry. I just don’t understand women.”


“Get this. First off, I’m dressed to kill. I’m wore my best tank top. You know, the one that shows off all my muscles? Plus, my pants bulged in all the right places, and only a blind person could have missed the taught, sinewy veins running up and down my arms. I was a grade A, top quality, dating machine, but was she impressed? Heck no.”

“Uh, Ralphie, maybe…”

“Cripe, I even dropped and gave her twenty when I picked her up. You know, just to get things rolling. But you should have seen the way she stared at me. You’d think she never saw a man doing one-armed push-ups before.”


“And when I got to the good part, you know, my specialty? Crushing a beer can between my biceps? That’s when she said she had a headache and asked if I’d take a rain check.”


“Sheesh… I’ll never understand women.”


“What, Harry?”

“I know this may sound hard to believe, but some women aren’t impressed by monstrous muscles, firm pecs and rope-like ligaments.”

“They’re not, Harry? Then what should I do? I mean, my chiseled-out-of-granite body is all I have going for me.”

“Well, have you ever tried taking a date to a concert?”

“Music? That’s for sissies, Harry. You know, real girlie-men.”

“That’s what I used to think, Ralphie. However, do you know that lady that lives one floor below me?”

“Cherie? She’s a babe.”

“You ain’t kidding. She was eating out of my hand after I took her to see Toad The Wet Sprocket and Kings X.”


“And then there’s Lucy. That tall redhead that works down at the health food store? Lemme tell you, she was one wild woman after I took her to see Nick Carter.”

“Concerts, eh? Are you sure that’s what women want?”

“Trust me, Ralphie. You take a date to see Kenny Chesney, Guy Davis or Levellers, and they’ll remember that night as long as they live. Plus, once word gets out that you’re a concert lover, the ladies won’t be able to get enough of you. Heh, you’ll probably have to distribute numbers and make them stand in line.”

“Well, if you say so, Harry.”

“I know so, Ralphie. Concerts, like 38 Special and Gin Blossoms are the way to a young lady’s heart. Not tight waists, oiled muscles and shiny biceps.”

“Isn’t there a Cher show next week?”

“Now you’re cooking with wheat germ, Ralphie.”

“And Big Bad Voodoo Daddy and Montgomery Gentry are coming to town next month. And there’s this lady down at the dog pound that I’ve had my eye on…”

“There you go, Ralphie. You’ll find it’s smooth sailing when you take a date to a great show, like The Saw Doctors or Sawyer Brown.”

“I’m sold, Harry. I’ll forget about trying to impress the ladies with my brawny torso and fantastic physical shape. From now on I’ll take all my dates to concerts.”

“That’s the spirit, Ralphie. Oh, just one more thing.”

“What’s that, Harry?”

“Most women prefer a man who bathes regularly.”

“What? But I shower once a week.”

“I’m sure you do, Ralphie, but what kind of soap do you use?”

“Huh? Soap?”