“Hey, Harry. You don’t look so good. Whassup?

“Oh, you know, Tom. The usual.”

“You mean…”

“That’s right. Man problems. I knocked back three or four beers last night, and now I’m paying the price.”

“Ah, yes. The curse of being a man. As if it wasn’t enough to provide for our wives and families, we also have to be right, never ask for directions, flirt with Denny’s waitresses and go to NASCAR races.”

“Ooohhh… Don’t talk to me about NASCAR, Tom. I was just starting to figure out March Madness.”

“Don’t let it get you down, Harry. You’ve always been a good man. You’ll pull through.”

“Oh, yeah? You weren’t at my house last night when my wife asked THE question.”

“The question? You mean the question about who to see during the spring concert season?”

“You got it. Of course, being the man I am, I had to answer with the usual choices. Heck, do you know how many times I’ve had to see Metallica?”

“Probably as many times I’ve seen Ozzy Osbourne. But that’s part of being a man, Harry. We’re supposed to go to shows featuring screaming guitars and thunderous drum solos, while nubile teenage girls dressed in skin-tight latex throw their tops out onto the stage. Heck, Harry, we wouldn’t be men if we didn’t.”

“Maybe so, but I’d give up my autographed, Ted Nugent hunting bow for a front row seat for Julio Iglesias or Lionel Richie. I mean, where is it written that men must love either heavy metal or country western? Trucks and Satan. Trucks and Satan. Surely there must be something more to music.”

“I got an idea, Harry. Why don’t you join me tonight? There’s a few people I think you should meet.”

“Oh? Who?”

“Just some guys like us, Harry. We meet once a week in a private room down at the Beer ‘N Bowl. We put on a little Norah Jones, maybe some Sting, and then we chill and talk about our man problems. Our next meeting is tonight.”

“And this helps?’

“It doesn’t hurt, Harry. After all, you know as well as I do that the only person that best understands a man is another man.”

“Sounds good to me, Tom.”

“Then you’ll do it? You’ll come to our meeting tonight?”

“Count me in. Oh, wait a minute. Tonight’s Wednesday.”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“Wednesday night is the night the kids go visit my wife’s parents. You know, to give the wife and me some privacy. Plus, I’m going to need some time to get ready.”

“Get ready? You mean…”

“That’s right. I have to go home and practice looking disappointed for when my wife tells me about her headache. Gosh, it sucks being a man.”