My wife, Mary, has worked from home for the past year or so, and as a result, she’s gotten more and more lazy and, dare I say it, much heavier due to her incurable sweet tooth. She rarely gets out of the house or lifts a finger to do anything; I do all the shopping, errand running, and cooking. I consider myself to be a pretty good cook, and she seems to like the meals I prepare. But the other night, something outrageous happened. I’d just cleared the table and went into the kitchen to prepare dessert and realized I’d forgotten to stock her favorite cookies. Well, that did it. She flew off the handle and threatened divorce. We’ve always argued a lot about minor things — Mary’s very particular — but this is just too much. She still hasn’t calmed down and is dead set on separating. Despite everything, I love Mary dearly and want to fix things between us. You’d think that her anger might have roots in some other, larger issue. But no. We’ve been back and forth over it, and she insists that it’s all about there not being any Nutter Butters in the cupboard. This is ridiculous. What on earth should I do?

Michael G.
Merritt Island

As odd as it sounds, Rusty, I ran into a similar problem quite recently. It’s my habit to stock a variety of post-coital snacks for my many lovers. After strenuous, passionate lovemaking, I always offer my females a selection of imported baked delicacies on a silver serving tray bedded with fresh and fragrant gardenia petals. On the occasion in question, I padded into the kitchen to bring one my conquests some goodies and found that my flunky, Hernan, had failed to replenish the larder with biscuits and sweet treats before he left for vacation. In a panic, I rifled through his basement room and managed to find two lone cookies of very low quality. I considered giving her the Double Stuf Oreo, but decided against it. So I went back upstairs and gave her the Vienna Finger! Nabisco!

Dear Romeo,

My girlfriend has a problem with oral sex. Not with me performing it on her — oh no, she’s all about that — but she never, and I mean never returns the favor. She claims that girls just don’t like doing it, and since she’s the only girl I’ve ever been with, what else can I say? She says she polled her girlfriends (and she has lots) and they all say they do it begrudgingly, that it’s gross, and they do it more out duty than enjoyment. Is this really true? Do all women secretly hate doing it?

“Justin”
Cape Canaveral

Jeremy, the idea that all women hate performing fellatio is completely and utterly fallacious. I hate to ask, but are you keeping on top of your hygiene? The difference between the act being a chore and a pleasure for women rests on personal cleanliness. One must always have a clean fallacy.

Mr. “Pomodoro,”

I’m disgusted and offended by the advice you give out in your monthly column. These people are in desperate need of legitimate help with pressing romantic issues. I have a mind to submit my own advice column to replace your outdated, sexist “insights.” You should be ashamed, making passes at vulnerable women seeking comfort and reassurance. How do you look in the mirror every morning?

“Miss Nefertiti”
Melbourne

I look handsome and desirable every morning, thank you! From the moment I awaken and look up at my reflection on the ceiling, I look toned, smooth, and tanned like George Hamilton. And I am half his age! In the bathroom mirror I look wise, distinguished, and worldly like Larry King. And he is many years older than me! In the mirror on my espresso machine I look rugged and adventurous, much like Ernest Borgnine in his youth. In the mirror in my refrigerator by the crisper drawer I look ready for action and my hair is luxuriant and silky. In the mirror I have on my shoe to look up women’s skirts, you look old, jealous, and bitter. Nice to see you!

Romeo,

I know this isn’t romantic in nature, but it does have some shocking repercussions for sea lovers such as yourself. What do you think of the BP oil spill? Any ideas on how to plug the hole?

F.H.
Satellite Beach

As much as I enjoy hole plugging, I think the first thing we should do is fire all those responsible for the unfortunate disaster. Every last one of them should be given the sack. And they should all be brave and take it on the chin. Sounds like a job for the Teabaggers. Easy now!

Dear Romeo,

I’m dating a Brazilian girl and while we were watching one of the soccer games we began wondering what you thought of Brazil’s chances of winning. Do you think they have what it takes this year to make it to the final round, and possibly, bring home the World Cup?

“Chris”
Cocoa Beach

I do have some thoughts on this, Kevin. I was sad to see the Italians exit so early, yet I have been impressed with several of the lesser-known teams, Ghana for one. But Brazil? They are always favored to make it to the final round, if not win the entire thing. But I have some experience with the Brazilians and am not sure if they have what it takes this year. They’re really not all that great anyway. I symbolically scored with 11 Brazilian girls during a vacation to São Paulo a few years ago and they gave me quite a workout. I won in the end, but no one gave me a cup. I wish someone had, because my essentials still hurt every time I hear the opening notes of “The Girl from Ipanema.” GOOOAAAL!

Oi Romeo!

Yer the kitten’s knickers, Romeo, you bargy dago bastard! Never in all me natural have I had such a turkish as when I first read your larf-aloud palaver. Me and the lads was in Port Canaveral two fluffs back on shore leave on the tiddleydum and split our bloody sides gargling at the pair who fell off the horse’s in the middle of a starry shag. As it happens, this bird back in cherry’s got one of the blokes, Tommy, in a right gherkin. He’s arse over tit for this bit of honeysuckle, but while we were kipped up in Gilbraltar a few moons ago, Tommy had a right fine creakle with one of the local roscoes — and luverly she was too, Carmen, with two beauty pippins on her that’d make a cob tumble his cheshires. Now Tommy’s feeling as coddled as a boffin in a skinful of humberdunce twits, so he is. Well, I says to him, keep your pudding ‘ole shut and no one will know dickie bird; twist yourself up by your wellies and stop piping like a mustard duff with two split brambles in the hams… and so on. After supper, Tommy’s Eliza’s an unholy chav, but Tommy’s as cozy as a gorsebilly in a bloody thimble and doesn’t know a dobbin in a strawrick from old Joe Doyle. So here’s the gush of it, Romeo, right down to the thruppence mojimbo: What should Tommy do, faraday down the malmsey or scupper through the wicket like a natter in a jamsack full of Trinidad peppers? We all wait for your sound advice with tarquin jagoes, as Jack winked to Jennifer. And up the nollytods, Romeo, if you get my meaning!

Cheers,

Midshipman Colin Jenkins
HMS Cadbury

Colon, it’s been said that England and America are two countries separated by a common language, and after your mystifying letter many readers may be inclined to agree. That said, your friend Tommy should definitely scupper through the wicket — double-time. Some readers may be surprised to know that I became well versed in British argot and Cockney rhyming slang while an exchange student in London during the early ’90s. I became very enamored of the city and her people, and count the tube system as one of my favorite London features. Especially the Fallopians! Tally-ho!

Dear Romeo,

I recently went skinny dipping with a male co-worker after a particularly rowdy office party on the beach. We’re both married and never touched each other during the swim but were wondering if you’d count it as cheating. “Rob” thinks so; I strongly disagree. What do you think?

“Heidi”
Cape Canaveral

Glenda, if no touching was involved, then I wouldn’t count that as cheating. But if your friend feels guilty it’s probably for a good reason. Regardless of your opinion, skinny dipping isn’t the kind of behavior two happily married people should engage in. And, um… that goes for people who are married to two different other respective people. As I am unmarried, however, I am always free to swim in the buff with you! I am a highly skilled and well-regarded skinny dipper. Once, while skinny dipping in the waters off Ipanema, I was mistaken for a snorkeler!

Help, Romeo!

I just turned 40 and decided to pursue my childhood dream of becoming a concert pianist. I’ve been taking classes with “Claire,” a ravishing blonde who happens to be married to a locally renowned cellist who practices in the room next door to ours. It only took two classes for me to feel myself falling in love with her. I’m happily single, but am afraid to take the risk of professing my feelings for Claire out of fear of angering both of them (her husband’s a big guy) and turning myself off playing the piano for good. Please help me. What should I do?

Ben F.
Satellite Beach

She sounds like a challenging piece. If anything, Chuck, telling her you love her will only improve your playing, regardless of the outcome. Don’t be afraid! Love waits for no man — and one cannot play passionately unless one knows passion. Go ahead, tickle her ivories! Con molto fuoco! When you’re finished with her, send me her number so I can put her on my Liszt!

Romeo,

I just graduated from college and am now looking for gainful employment. I have some experience as a sex advice columnist for the college paper and was hoping you were accepting interns. I’m a diligent, highly organized worker and very creative. I’d love to work for you. Give me a shot and you won’t be disappointed.

Mary N.
Melbourne

And I’d love to have you working under me, Fiona! I am always accepting applications for interns and am also always in need of assistance. There is all manner of work to be done around the Pomodoro compound, some of which might not directly relate to the writing of this column at first. For instance, I may have you polish my front knob (I have many people touching it when they come over for appointments), fold my linen, or hop down to the Port to retrieve my daily crate of fresh seafood. Just don’t bring me crabs! Ahoy!

I have a big crush on the girl who works at my local café. I stop there every morning on my way to work to get a cup of coffee and a muffin and to see “Daisy’s” sunshiney smile. Last week, she punched the last hole in my frequent friendly customer card, gave me my free mocha, looked up at me, and gave me what I took to be an unusually bright, toothy grin. I noted a certain gleam in her eye and couldn’t help myself from complimenting her on her loveliness at that moment and asked her why she seemed so particularly cheery that morning. Apparently, her boyfriend of two weeks had proposed to her the night before and she was over the moon. I was heartbroken at first, but promised myself that I wouldn’t let it get in the way of my pursuing her. I mean, come on! Two weeks? I’ve known Daisy for like six months! Plus, I’ve met her boyfriend (he’s some beach bum who just started coming in) and he’s an insensitive jerk. And he doesn’t even drink coffee! I know in my heart that Daisy would be much happier with me. But what do you think? Am I just being delusional? Should I give up or move forward? Time is running out.

Dave R.
Indian Harbour Beach

If I were you, Kevin, I’d give up. I’ve met her boyfriend too, and if you continue on this path, you may end up getting more than your hole punched. Zow! Like that!

Dear Romeo,

My husband and I enjoy… let’s say, “athletic” sexual relations. Among some of our amorous achievements are copulating suspended from our bedroom ceiling in a kind of sling “Ron” fashioned (he’s an engineer) and fornicating wildly in a speeding airboat (Ron was steering). But last month, our love of naughty hijinks took a turn for the worse when I tumbled off our roof in the middle of the night while we were engaged in lovemaking. Not only was it highly embarrassing — my neighbors seeing me lying motionless in the grass in my Catwoman suit and my husband up above in a Batman costume yelling for help because he was unable to untether himself from the chimney harness he made (Ron’s not a very good engineer) — but I broke my right arm in the fall. I hate the thought of giving this hobby up — we simply hate traditional bedroom sex — but we are getting older obviously and aren’t sure how much longer we can continue on. Do you have any creative solutions?

“Mary”
Cocoa Beach

Well Adela, I have many creative solutions as it happens, all of which are outlined in my latest lovemaking manual, “The Tantric Tarantula: and 1,001 Other Sexual Positions That Will Help You Rediscover the Pleasures of Intimate Contact, Tap Into Your Youth, Prevent Aging, and Win Successful Friends, and a Few Cooking Recipes My Mother Passed Down to Me Before She Died of Breast Cancer, Including Some Conversations with Angels and Some Reflections on the Decline of the Ottoman Empire (1830-1908) with Extensive Footnotes” sadly shortened by my unimaginative, market-obsessed publishers to simply: “Blow Me on a Bungee.” But you broke your arm, you say? That’s rather humerus. Ouch!

Romeo,

Does size really matter? Please settle this once and for all.

Jake W.
Satellite Beach

This is a question I’ve long been hoping to answer, Tyler, and I’m happy you asked it. But does it really need to be inquired of? Let’s put it this way, I have had many nicknames in my days of sexual activity, far too many to include with completion. But here are a few, just to give you an idea: “Romeo Vesuvio,” “Longfellow,” “The Erector Set,” “Dow Jones” (during the mid-’90s economic boom), “Romeo My Boat,” “Turgid God of Heavenly Love,” and once, during a dark patch following a bicycling injury, “Limpy.” However, I think that my current sobriquet will provide you with the answer you seek: “Too Big To Fail.” You will hear it if you listen closely on the lips of many beachside females. It’s a mouthful (so to speak), but far better than my poor cousin Alfredo Alfresco’s current nickname: “Ponzi.”
Dear Romeo Pomodoro,

My husband and I are having our neighbors over next week because we suspect that they might be closet swingers. “Martha’s” husband “Greg” is a real beefcake I sometimes admire over the fence separating our yards, and my husband also recently admitted that he had an erotic dream about Martha. We’ve been swingers for a long time, but fell out off the lifestyle recently when we relocated here from Michigan. My question is that we’ve been so long out of the loop that we can’t figure out a good game to loosen everyone up and initiate activity. We have a hot tub and several boxes of chilled chardonnay in the outside fridge, but we think that maybe if we suggest playing strip poker we might come across as kind of creepy and outdated. Do you have any ideas about how to get things rolling?

“Dominique”
Melbourne

Fascinating inquiry, Charlene. You’re very right in thinking that strip poker is an antiquated chapeau. No swingers I know of — and I know many — have pulled that one out (ahem) since 1979. The games industry has supplied the swinging community with loads of wonderfully fun facilitators over the years, “Yahtzee In My Partner’s Pants” being one of the more successful and popular. But the overall tactics of swingers have swung (ahem) back to the classics: “Twist Her,” “Parcheese Me,” “Monopoly Polygamy,” “Uncle Wiggly,” “Shoots and Lad ‘Er,” “Duck, Duck, Goose Me,” and “Trivial Hump-a-Thon.” I’ve also heard tell of some swingers playing something called “Lights Out Cribbage.” Just make sure everyone puts their pegs in the right holes. Milton Bradley!

Let me just say that I can’t believe I’m writing to you with this problem. I don’t usually do this kind of thing, and I don’t really care for the publication that employs you. But I’m going out on a limb because I really have nowhere else to turn. Let’s cut to the chase: I’m a very conservative professional male who’s in love with a liberal woman I work with. At first, I think we both kind of got off on the political tension between us, but as the months have gone on her wacky views are getting in the way of our courtship. I love Angela dearly, but I also happen to love Rush Limbaugh. Please try to put aside your foreign, liberal bias to give me some honest direction. Can Angela and I put aside our political differences for the sake of marital bliss?

“Dittohead in Love with a Feminazi”
Satellite Beach

Well, first of all, you ignorant conservative half-wit, it’s important that you take a cold hard look in your costly gold Republican mirror and face the facts. As I often tire of repeating, love knows no political boundaries. The first thing you must do is to come around to Angela’s way of thinking, which will lead you down rose petal-strewn lanes of marital bliss and contentment. The problem, it appears, is that there are three people in this relationship, not two. You say you are in love, but with whom? With Angela or Rush Limbaugh? Your love of Limbaugh is duly noted, but please don’t mistake agreement with his views for sexual compatibility. Limbaugh seems to fill a hole for you and you appear to enjoy it. Who would you rather spend time with, Limbaugh or the lovely Angela? Yes, there is an obvious hole in your life. Don’t allow Rush Limbaugh to fill it.

Dear Romeo,

Just after the pressure I felt after Valentine’s Day, I’m beginning to feel even more pressure for my upcoming 10th anniversary. I pulled out all the stops for February 14th and now I’m faced with trying to outdo it all this April 20th. Should I go more subdued, or should I shoot even higher this time?

Andy F.
Melbourne

Always, always shoot higher, Steve. I’m sure you can do it. Feeling the pressure is always a good thing, especially when you feel it your nether regions! Heyho!

Romeo,

I made a big mistake. I mean a BIG mistake. In desperation one drunken night, I hooked up with a “plus size” girl, and unfortunately got her pregnant. I have nothing against large girls — and I’ve always wanted to have kids, but not this way. Hers aren’t the genes I want. What do I do?

“Russell”
Cocoa Beach

Well, Phillip, you should have thought about all those genes before you pulled them off her, you rascal. If you don’t like larger girls, you should in future give them a wide berth, or you may find yourself once again witnessing an even wider birth. Hold on!

Dear Romeo,

As a fellow Italian you might be able to understand my problem. I love to “talk” with my hands, and when I get excited I go crazy, gesticulating wildly no matter where I am. Last week I was out on a date with a guy I was sure I’d marry by the end of the year, and in the heat of the conversation we were having in this posh restaurant, I knocked a bottle of expensive cabernet all over his even more expensive white linen suit. He hasn’t spoken to me since. Help!

“Maria”
Merritt Island

Cara Sophia, I am sorry for your heartbreak. Please remember that gesticulating should always be done in private behind closed doors.

Dear Romeo,

Here we are not even halfway into 2010 and we’re seeing yet another celebrity sex scandal. I have no idea who this Jesse James is, but it’s obvious that he’s just another of your typical male chauvinist pigs and serial cheaters who can’t keep it in his pants. But what about all these tramps he hooked up with? First we had Tiger Woods consorting with the lowest common denominator of the female gender and now this guy James with a predilection for hooker-types. What do men see in these bimbos? We all know what James’s problem is, but what in the heck is the problem with these women?

Fiona H.
Indian Harbour Beach

Well, Brittany, I’m not a doctor, but it would seem that their common problem might stem from their chronically swollen glands! Safety goggles, please — stat!

Like many of your correspondents in the past, I’d like to use your column as a forum for a problem I feel has gone unaddressed for far too long in this area: mixed race relationships. My girlfriend, who I’ll call “Julie,” is a fantastically attractive and highly successful African- American woman and I’m a young, professional white male. I’ll admit that Julie is something exceptional — I do love her after all — but all that doesn’t seem to make much of a difference, because it doesn’t protect us from getting the evil eye every time we go out in public together. Unlike much of the rest of the country, where seeing a white man and a black woman (or vice versa) together is generally accepted and even praised, here in Brevard the story is quite different. In many ways, the Space Coast seems to be 40 years or more behind the times. Each time Julie and I go out around town, we either get bad vibes or strange stares. We’re often made to wait longer for tables at restaurants; sometimes we’re completely ignored. There have been more vocal examples of the public’s disapproval, too — shouts from passing vehicles and snide, barely whispered comments from fellow diners for instance. Can you please tell your readers to grow up and get with the 21st century program? We never have the same problems when we travel to other more “traditional” Southern outposts like Atlanta or Tallahassee. It seems that Jim Crow is alive and well right here in Brevard County.

“Color Blind”
Cape Canaveral

Thank you for addressing a very important issue, sir. I think all of our readers would do well to recognize the idiocy of criticizing loving, biracial relationships, regardless of the color or race of the persons involved in them. It’s important to remember that Love — in all its glory — makes no such petty distinction between color, ethnicity, race, religious beliefs, or political associations. It is not biracial relationships that are aberrant, but the attitude with which they’re often met. Love is Love, no matter what, and I for one support anyone who has the courage and strength to weather these unfortunate, ignorant storms. If it’s one thing Romeo hates, it is ignorance of all varieties. In light of that, I do take exception to your statement that Jim Crow is alive and well in Brevard County, and furthermore, I fail to see what would possess you to make such an outrageous claim in the context of your missive. I can understand disputing the deaths of icons like Elvis and Jim Morrison, but it is a well known, proven fact that Jim Crow perished in a crash in 1973. However, hits like “Bad, Bad Leroy Brown,” “Operator,” and “I Got A Name” will always live on in our memories.

Dear Mr. Pomodoro,

I have a big problem with my husband of 30 years, Ralph. Now when Ralph and I married we had an understanding that as devout, decent, practicing Catholics, all sexual activity would be for procreative purposes only and not for temporal, sinful pleasure. That understanding never seemed to bother Ralph before; we do have 11 children after all, so he should be reasonably happy. But now that the last of our chickens has flown the coop, Ralph has started getting more and more randy and perverted with me once the lights go out. Why, last week he even threw out the nightstand that separated our beds for these many years and has pushed our beds together for the sole purpose of tickling and touching me inappropriately it seems. I’ve almost never been angry with Ralph throughout our long and happy marriage, but lately I’ve been getting really down on him — and it’s getting us both down. What should I do?

“Maggie”
Indian Harbour Beach

Molly, with all due respect to your faith (I am a Catholic too, but not a CATHOLIC Catholic), I’m not surprised at your husband’s behavior. Sex is a part of human nature because it is pleasurable, not merely because it fulfills some abstract desire to further the species. Does everything God created have to have some practical purpose? Now that your children have left home, what better time to rediscover why the two of you fell in love in the first place. Was it only to have children? Surely you found each other attractive at some point. God will not smite you for having sex more than the 11 times you have or engaging in the practice merely for erogenous giggles. Especially at your time of life, I suggest throwing caution and your religious beliefs to the wind and getting busy. You may even find that it will enhance your religious experience and overall quality of life. You chide yourself for being down on your husband of late. I’d argue that you should be down on him more often! Boing!

Dear Romeo,

I’m a single, professional woman, 30-years-old, with a great, sexy body and a take-no-prisoners attitude. My high-profile job brings me into contact with hundreds of handsome, eligible men (some single, some married). I’m happy to use them for weekend getaways or month-long flings, but other than that, they really don’t interest me. Also, I suppose I have something about me that makes them want to marry me. I know I’m great in bed and have all kinds of great things going for me, but I still think that I’m too young to be getting married any time soon. Anyhow, this has been happening to me more and more lately. Am I giving off some kind of crazy pheromones or something? Here I am having an okay time with some guy and then all of a sudden he gets down on one knee and starts proposing to me! I know! Like, what? It’s really embarrassing to have to turn them down and I guess I kind of feel bad, but I have my whole life ahead of me. I mean, isn’t it the woman who’s supposed to be hungry for marriage all the time? What’s going on? Problem: right now I have two guys — Gregg and Brick — vying for my attention. And you know what? I kind of like it this time. They are both successful and hot and I’m getting kind of a thrill stringing them along to see how far they’ll go. They both want to marry me and know I’m not interested, but they’ve both said they won’t give up until I say yes. I know what I’m doing is wrong, but I can’t help it. Any advice?

“Ginger”
Orlando

Amber, I have actually run into this problem many times before with similar female readers. Your situation is not as unique as it seems. I have come up with a handy metaphor for dealing with it too, and I have used it with great success. Imagine you are on a highway in your expensive Audi speeding along and yapping on the phone with the wind blowing through your luxuriant, highlighted tresses. There are two other cars ahead of you in the slow lane — let’s say they are Gregg and Brick — and as you pass them they notice a problem with your car that you are unable to see. They signal to you and even try to catch up with you, but you are going much too fast for them to reach you. They try mightily for several miles, but eventually give up. You see that you must slow down a little to enjoy life? Don’t be so afraid of commitment. You may find that Gregg or Brick are good catches. However, I can guess that your type will never slow down until it is too late. You will keep speeding along oblivious to love. But what is that in your rear view mirror? It is I, Romeo Pomodoro driving a sleek Lamborghini and gaining the advantage. Be careful I don’t overtake you from behind! Honk honk!

I am an inveterate self-pleasurer — an onanist, in more technical terms. I don’t walk out the door in the morning without going at it at least three times, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I engage in the practice in the car on the way to the office. I then spill my seed again in the restroom before sitting down at my computer, and sneak away from my desk throughout the day for about 10 sessions of self-gratification before clocking out. I’m not even counting what happens between the time when I get home and when I head off to bed.  Now the surprise might be that I actually do have a girlfriend and have for some time now — so that’s not a factor — it’s just that I’m simply addicted to the habit. So what’s the problem, you say? Well, nothing really. I just thought you might like to know.

“Onan The Barbarian”

Melbourne

Well thanks very much for letting me know. So it would seem that on a typical day you… erm… twist the knob something like 20 times a day, a number which, if it didn’t seem arbitrarily invented, might be downright impossible to reach, especially if you are, as you say, in a relationship with a young woman. It sounds like you may have achieved some kind of perverse record, but I’m here to tell you that I beat it daily. The record, I mean. And I guess the other thing too… but the point is that there is no shame in… uhm… punching the clock. Keep it up! I’m off like a prom dress!

Dear Romeo,

I know it’s old news by now, but I’m wondering if you or any other readers are as amazed as I am at the amount of women Tiger Woods has slept with. How is this even possible? I mean, they keep coming out of the woodwork, don’t they? Whatever the case, I’m very impressed with the number of his amorous conquests. He may even be giving you a run for your money on the sexual front — eh, Romeo?

(Anonymous; via email)

It is indeed an impressive accomplishment, kind reader. But no need to worry. Mr. Woods has nothing on the number of females Romeo Pomodoro has bedded. What’s more to the point, Romeo has far better taste in persons of the female variety. Have you seen some of these women? Looks like he picked them up at the Trenton Putt-Putt World. Fore!

Dear Romeo Pomodoro,

Frankly, I find this whole Tiger Woods situation appalling. Not only did he cheat on a loving, beautiful wife, he also betrayed his status as a father to his children and his position as a role model for millions of young fans. I demand that you denounce his reprehensible behavior in your capacity as a well-regarded local love advice columnist.

Martha N .

Satellite Beach

Still though, Molly, you have to admire the man’s balls. Well… you understand what I mean.

Ro-Ro,

I’m the last guy in the world to fall for all this Valentine’s Day hoopla, but I’m not so much of a jerk to realize that it’s an important day for women throughout the country, my dear wife of three years included. Thing is though that what with having lost my job last month and my funds running low, all I can afford for  “Deb” is one red rose. Surely, one lone rose is romantic enough to please her, right? There is no earthly way I can afford to take her out for dinner. Your views?

“Russell”

Melbourne Beach

Well Kyle, according Romeo’s several volume love playbook, roses are one of the most clichéd Valentine’s gifts out there. We all know — thanks to a band called (I think) Venom — that every rose has its thorn. What we should more rightly remember is that every rose comes with a potential prick. If you truly loved your wife, you’d scrimp and save till the big day and make some kind of dinner for her, however paltry. On this day, of all days, it’s important for you to not be a cheapskate. However, if you do happen to find yourself in a bind, I’d be happy to take care of your young bride for you. Thanks to my early investments in edible undergarment technology in the early ’90s, I am doing very well, financially speaking. I will treat your wife to a lovely meal at my cousin’s romantic trattoria, a magnum of Dom Perignon, another magnum of my own design (…if you catch my drift), and an exclusive screening of a new art film inspired by Tiger Woods’ recent escapades entitled “Bag ‘Er, Vance.” You are more than welcome to watch. I have popcorn!

I’m in big trouble. My girlfriend caught me cheating (for the third time) and this time, she’s really angry. I mean really, really angry. The thing about her though is that she’s one of these altruistic, hippy types, which means that she’s pretty forgiving. But forgiveness with her comes at a really lame cost. The first two times, she made me do community service — like volunteering and stuff like that. Now, this time, she wants me to give to some lame charity. I told her I’m already listed as an organ donor on my driver’s license, but she says that doesn’t count. Do you have any tips for me — like ones that would be pretty easy to get out of?

“Jim”

Cape Canaveral

It appears that you are in something of a pickle, Ken. But please remember that charitable work never comes easy. If you want to earn her forgiveness, you must first curb your licentious habits and then get wholeheartedly involved in some local cause. You must honor her wishes and give thanks that she is as forgiving as she is. Have you considered Meals On Wheels? Or maybe becoming a Big Brother? There are many charitable institutions out there. Look on the web or check the phone book. I have to agree with your girlfriend that you’ve donated your organ enough already. Whoops!

Romeo,

I’m madly in love with this guy I’ll call Ray. Ray is everything I ever wanted in a man: he’s honest, good-looking, smart, funny, and devoted. The only problem is that he’s not the slightest bit handy. He can’t even fix the smallest thing without messing it up even more. He tries to make repairs around my apartment too come across as more manly, but I’m starting to lose respect for him. What should I do?

Kim H.

Satellite Beach

Gilda, I have the tool you need. And I have the hands to use with the tool. I can do it for you because I am very skilled with many handy techniques and in many fields. I can drill, screw, twist, tighten, loosen, lubricate, re-wire, clean pipes, hose down, vacuum, erect things, stucco, turn knobs, change fluids, buff, clean your carpet, and do your both your windows. Do you need to borrow my tool? You can use it! But please don’t let Ray use my tool. He might break it.

Romeo!

Here it is, the year 2010, and we still haven’t come any closer to finding Osama bin Laden. C’mon! What’s the hold up? What are we doing wrong?

Anonymous

Merritt Island

A good question, Ann. Personally, I think we should stop looking, sit down with a nice cup of coffee, and try to think of where we saw him last. This tactic always seems to work whenever I’ve misplaced my wallet.

Dear Romeo,

I came across your column last month while on vacation in Cocoa Beach. Now that I’m back in Tintwistle, a picturesque village in the High Peak district of Derbyshire, England, I’ve decided to write you with an problem I’ve had for quite some time. We have love advice columnists here (we call them “agony aunts” or “uncles,” depending on their gender), but they’re not nearly as insightful and helpful as I found you to be. Here’s the problem: I’m a 55-year-old bachelor who hasn’t been with a female for over 30 years. At the pub I own, The Lamb & Spade, I run into loads of eligible females, as you can imagine, but while they’re generally courteous and laugh at my little jokes, none seem interested in taking things further. It can’t be my mother, as I moved her into a home two years ago, or my looks, which, while average, are in no way off-putting. Here at the Lamb, I man the beer pumps and cook all the food, and money is always rolling in, so you’d think women might find me a catch. What’s more, I think I’m an excellent cook (specializing in traditional English and Scottish food), and you don’t meet many men around here who aren’t afraid of spending time in the kitchen. So, Mr. Pomodoro, do you have any of your sound advice for me?

Lonely in Tintwistle

Traditional English and Scottish food, eh? That might be the root of your problem. Women like more delicate flavors than what these lowly cuisines have to offer. I recommend taking a French or Italian cooking class and removing Spotted Dick from your menu. Or at least some of the spots. And while you’re at it, dump the Clapshot, Hunter’s Buns, Fitless Cock, Aberdeen Nips, Beef Cecils, Faggots, Cullen Sink, Bubble and Squeak, Slot, Wet Nelly, and Dean’s Cream. Do this, and you may have droves of women asking for your Toad-in-the-Hole. Tally ho!

You don’t know me, but I see you every Monday, Wednesday and Friday stocking up on pasta at the local Publix. The first two times I saw you were pure coincidence, but by the third time I realized that this was a pattern of yours. Ever since then, I’ve gone religiously to the supermarket and straight to the aisle where I know you’ll be — about 9 a.m., right? — in hopes of striking up a conversation with you. But I always lose my nerve. I’m not some crazy stalker, just a smitten admirer who’d really love to get to know you better. I’m really shy and always talk myself out of approaching you because I’m afraid of being rejected. May I have your permission to speak to you, and yes, maybe even win a date with you? It would make a great Christmas present!

“Molly”
Cape Canaveral

So you’re the girl with the luscious rump I always see bending down for the cannellini beans! Maggie, you are more than welcome to approach me. Fear not; Romeo rejects no one. I’ll be hosting many upscale dinner parties as Christmas draws nearer and will need much more pasta, so you’re certain to see me. Just be careful, because I can be very stealthy. Before you’ve even noticed me, I can sneak up behind you and give you a Christmas goose! If you are offended by this, I can only advise you to turn the other cheek! Shopping is a pleasure!

Yooo, Roomeoo!

Whaaasuuup? And whaaat is uuup with women? Whyyyy won’t they give me the time of daaay? I’m frustraaated! Aaaarggh! Uuuuurg! Heeeelp!

Bill S.

(Sent from his iPhone)

Women are indeed very curious and alluring creatures, Chip, and can often seem rather cold and callous. But there is always a good reason for their aloofness, for women are also highly intelligent beings. My guess is that you’re being given the cold shoulder because of your loose vowels.

Dear Romeo Pomodoro,

I’m very worried about my son-in-law, Jack. My eldest daughter, Katie, had been dating Jack since high school before they decided to get married last summer. Up until recently, I never saw anything really wrong with Jack. He’s always been very good to Katie, is always courteous, works hard, is clean-cut, and has always been very respectful during all our family gatherings. Over the past few months, however, I’ve overheard Jack making some very homophobic comments — so violently homophobic, in fact, that I’m beginning to question his rationality and the safety of Katie too. Katie, for her part, laughs it all off as healthy machismo, but I detect something deeper and darker in Jack’s disapproval of homosexuals. My husband and I raised our children (we have five) to be open-minded and accepting of other ideas, cultures, and lifestyles, and I worry that Katie is setting herself up for disaster by shrugging off Jack’s comments. I know that she has some close homosexual friends from college, but I haven’t heard her say anything about them for some time. I worry that she may have ditched them for Jack’s sake. Am I being paranoid? This Christmas, I’ll be inviting “Rudy,” a gay friend from the hospital where I work over for dinner with the family, as he has nowhere to go this year. Katie and Jack are supposed to come too. Should I tell them beforehand? They may not show up. Should I just let things take their natural course? I wouldn’t dare tell Rudy; he’s a very dear friend. I’m afraid Jack will explode and ruin our Christmas and hurt Rudy’s feelings — if not more. Can you help?

Desperate In Indialantic

Dear woman, I suggest you do neither. I have a feeling that what Jack will respond the least to right now is the feminine approach. If you so desire, I, who am very manly, will offer to meet Jack at a local bar where he can feel safe in expressing himself. We will drink beer together and watch men in tight pants tackle each other on the television. We may even hug when the team we prefer makes a scoredown. Later, we can knock our balls together on the pool table, at which point I will sidle over to the jukebox and play some Abba. This will cue the arrival of my hairdressers (yes, it takes two…), Wulf and Rolf. They will remind him that a pair of queens will always beat a jack. That should put a spring in his step!

Romeo,

I flew to Indiana last week to get my copy of “Going Rogue” signed by Sarah Palin and got one of those bracelets that guaranteed me a chance to meet her and waited in the freezing cold for hours before she hightailed it out of the parking lot without so much as an apology. Who does she think she is? I am fit to be tied.

“Joan”
Melbourne Beach

I’m glad you are so inclined, Janice, because I’m very fit to tie you up and recite some passages from her book to you to get you in the mood. Drill, baby, drill!

I know that love advice is your area of expertise, but I also happen to know that you are also a pretty worldly fellow — a connoisseur of good music, art and food. I’ve also come across columns where you namedrop fine wines and rare, foreign liqueurs. Wine happens to be a new passion of mine and I am looking for some advice on the subject. I think I have a pretty good palate and have tasted some great vintages in my day, but I’m not so conceited as to think that I can just jump right into the hobby. I’ve thought about joining a few wine tasting clubs and have already bought a few books on the subject, but I’m feeling a little put off by the flowery terminology and snobby attitudes of people who know more than I do. Do you have any suggestions or advice for me on the enjoyment of wine? Where should I start? What are some of the better vintages? Which wine is better, Californian or French? I trust your opinion and look forward to your response.

Winewench77
(via email)

My dear Winewretch, I would be more than happy to instruct you in this highly delightful field of luxurious pleasure. Clubs, are for the most part, made up of stuffy stiffshirts who allow their blue-blooded prejudices to infect their pupils, and little is learned from simply copying their frequently aristocratic tastes. And do I really need to tell you that Italian wines are the best? One of the tastiest I’ve ever had the good fortune to drink was pressed not one year before by the large, hairy feet of my three aunts in their courtyard. Filled into recycled two-liter soda bottles and stored in the broom closet, this nectar was undeniably savage, but I was rather taken by its impudent charm. Don’t let flowery language get in the way of your enjoyment of wine. Let me guide you in its pleasure. Call me! If you are full-bodied, then I invite you to pull my cork! I think you will detect hints of late-summer berries, fresh-squeezed lemon, and salami and cream with a strong note of nuts during the protracted and very pleasurable finish. Buy a case and get a discount!

Mr. Romeo,

I think I should just come right out and say that I have a problem. I am absolutely crazy for women’s buttocks. Doesn’t matter what shape, color or size — I’m crazy for keisters. Now the problem is not my passion for posteriors — I’m not ashamed of that — but more the techniques I use to get a better look or to prolong my enjoyment of the luscious view. The thing is, I’m starting to feel pretty silly about the lengths I’ll go to to admire them. Friends have complained about the juvenile “You dropped something” ruse, and I admit that what’s funny when you’re 10 isn’t very appropriate behavior when you’re a 32-year-old engineer. In response to this opposition, I have now resorted to pretending that I’ve dropped something myself (usually while waiting in lines) so I can linger during the retrieval of, say, my keys or some change. I’m starting to feel really creepy doing it and wonder if I should seek professional help. I also find myself trying to come up with newer, more creative ways to get an eyeful — things I can’t really go into here. Can you help?

“Jim”
Melbourne Beach

Roland, I admire your devotion to one of the loveliest parts of the female anatomy, but I worry about your adoption of potentially illegal and indeed very creepy techniques. It would appear that for you, the end always justifies the means. I recommend that you seek professional counseling to help you get to the bottom of this problem. Whoops!

Romeo,

A few months ago I started seeing “Denise.” Denise is a good girl at heart, but she’s a little wild. To be honest, Romeo, Denise is a common tramp. I’m not all that proud of our relationship (which is based entirely on rough, impromptu sex), but she has no relatives and I feel a little sorry for her. Seeing as how Thanksgiving is coming up, I feel kind of guilty about leaving her on her own. I’m thinking about inviting her over to my parent’s house this year to feast with my close-knit family. Of course, I’m sure all my pretty straight-laced relatives will give both of us a hard time and I really don’t want her to feel uncomfortable. I’m more worried about my mother though; I’m sure she’ll go ballistic when she meets Denise. Is it worth hurting her feelings or ruining our family holiday? Any thoughts? What should I do?

John B.
Indialantic

Frank, don’t be such a turkey! Invite her! This is a time to give thanks and to be generous and American of spirit. I have been in a similar position many times over — and trust me, my mother is far more judgmental and vengeful than yours. The main question is: Are you a real man? Do you have any cranberries? If you do, then you’ll not hesitate in inviting her over! Do not be so shallow as to leave his poor girl alone on this most generous and loving of holidays. This girl may embarrass you at the table by requesting gravy on her pie. So what? Serve her! Maybe she would like a roll? Give her one! Maybe she desires stuffing? Maybe she yearns for a hot yam? Perhaps she’d like her buns buttered? Whatever the case, do not ruin this girl’s Thanksgiving for the sake of propriety. Pass the breasts and give thanks!

Dear Sir,

I have a bone to pick with you. A few months ago, you offered some advice to a young man who wrote to you about his philandering habits and his concern that they were damaging his relationship with his fiancée. In your response, you dismissed his wandering eye as part of healthy male behavior and suggested he allow his dalliances to continue unabated. After making a few terribly rude jokes about the abandoned fiancée’s subsequent re-entry into the realm of singlehood, you added insult to injury by suggesting that she spend her new-found free time with you “feasting” on “peeled grapes” and imbibing “rare wines,” if I recall correctly. Mr. Pommodorro, I will not drag any of my own personal opinions about you into this missive — suffice it to say that they are in no way favorable — but will take you to task for ruining a young girl’s hopes for true love. “Mark” was, no doubt, a cad, but this does not excuse you from promoting his errant behavior and destroying my own daughter’s plans for a happy union. It is you, sir, who are the cad, and if duels were still permitted I’d demand that you name your second and meet me at Ramp Road at dawn instanter. Do you have anything to say for yourself? No doubt you will with aught but another of your tasteless jibes.

The devil with you, Pommodorro!

T. Queensberry, Esq.

Melbourne Beach

Signore! I too have a rather large bone to pick with you! But let us not resort to airing our bones in public or bashing them together in a duel. This is not a time for us to be picking one another’s bones! Let us instead turn our bones of contention into ones of contentment. Calm yourself, dear man. My advice was not meant to be unkind. My clever ruse saved your dear daughter from the slathering clutches of my arch nemesis, whom loyal readers will recall as none other than Lorenzo Alfresco, a cad and blackguard of the kind you imagine me to be! You owe me profuse thanks for having rescued dear Stacy from the clutches of one of the most malevolent seducers in our beaches. I have not heard from Alfresco for some time, and can only hope that this printed exchange does not draw him back to our female-abundant shores. So please put away your bone, Sir… Or may I call you “Dad”?

Romeo,

You have to help me with something! I’m an attractive single woman, 30s-ish and in great shape, and I’ve just been royally dissed by the hottest guy at my local gym. In all my years of dating and mixing with hot young men, I’ve never been faced with rejection like this. “Ken” exercises near the free-weight section of my gym and we give each other little nods of recognition every morning. I’d say he’s been coming there for at least a good two months. Last week, I gave him one of my foxy, “come-hither” looks and he seemed to smile slightly, but that was it. He left without so much as a word! Usually, I reserve that sexy look for the guy I want to bed and it’s never failed to work! I gave him the look a few more times during the week, but by Friday I was feeling so rejected and offended that I followed him out to the lobby as he was leaving to confront him. Was I too old for him? Was I not good-looking enough? He never wears a wedding band and I doubt he has a girlfriend (girlfriends never seem to deter other men from wanting to get it on with me). Is he gay? I felt I really needed some kind of explanation and was beginning to feel really hurt and sensitive. So as I’m following him into the lobby, he’s got his back to me — which is really muscular and ripped — and I yell “Hey, Ken!” — I admit I kind of lost it — and what does he do but totally ignore me! I shouted out to him again and he just keeps walking and gets in his car and splits. WTF? I walked back inside to collect my bag and just felt mortified. Plus, I noticed a couple of the girls sniggering under their breath at the spectacle I’d made. I haven’t even gone back there and am in the market for another gym over on Merritt Island because I feel so embarrassed. Do you have any clues as to what might have happened? I figured you of all people might know. Tell it like it is, Romeo. I can handle it.

“Cindy”

Cocoa Beach

If I were you, Felicity, I’d relax and take a deep breath. I think you may find that the explanation for Ken’s rejection of you might be more innocent than you suspect. Have you considered that Ken might need a more direct face-to-face approach? Perhaps Ken is hearing impaired. I’m reminded of a very similar situation that unfolded some years ago when I was much more innocent and living in Milano. Though I was never given any of the salacious looks you describe by Lucrezia, the most desirable girl in the district, she did once follow me out into the lobby of my local gym. Lucrezia was the delicious object of every man’s affection, especially when she donned her skin-tight lycra biking shorts. Apparently she’d been calling after me as I was exiting, imploring me to extinguish the fires of her ardor lest she should perish, but I was none the wiser, because, you see, I had just attended a very loud Barry Manilow concert the night before and couldn’t hear a thing. Now Italian women, unlike yourself, are much more forceful, and do not like to be ignored, which unbeknownst to me, I was doing. After throwing her sweaty towel at the back of my retreating head to get my attention (lovely, by the way), I saw before me the ravishing lycra-clad Lucrezia gesticulating wildly (as Italians are wont to do) and uttering words I unfortunately could not hear. Happily, I was able to read her lips and all turned out well. Ciao-abunga!

Dear Romeo,

As a longtime fan of yours, I’ve become very distressed to read all the criticism of your advice in recent issues. I know you’re a divisive character, but I’m concerned for your safety. Sometimes it seems as if you were proposing sweeping changes in the health care system the way these cranky loonies react! I just want to let you know that I and many other readers are behind you 100%!

Love,

Annie H.

Indialantic

And I’m behind you 100%, Nancy! Thank you ever so kindly for your words of support. But please do not fear; Romeo is no stranger to controversy. I’ve been all over the world, my dear, and dissent always seems to follow me in one way or another. I am used to it. Instances of my being attacked are too numerous to mention in their entirety, but I can tell you that I have been kicked in the Dardanelles, punched in the Bosporus, poked in the Hague, elbowed in the Zambezi, and bitten on the Ganges. Needless to say, I’m seriously reconsidering canceling next week’s trip to Jackson Hole.

Romeo!

You seem like a very busy guy. What do you do in your spare time when you’re not giving out advice or making whoopee?

“Gareth”
(via email)

A very good question, Greg. I am indeed a very busy advice columnist and whoopee manufacturer and usually spend my infrequent downtime on my patio overlooking the resplendent Atlantic Ocean or working on my dock, which is exceptionally large and always seems to require gentle yet rigorous attention. However, a few poor investment choices over the past year have forced me to relinquish some of that spare time in favor of augmenting my meager income by writing subject lines for male enhancement supplement email spam. You may be familiar with some of my work. Here are just a few of the lines I’ve written which have earned numerous plaudits: “Your bodypart will be ready” (one of my first, before I got the hang of the job); “Boost your rocket;” “Virilize your life!”; “Give her the drilling she deserves!” (penned during Sarah Palin’s rise to political prominence, which led to –) “Give your political prominence a rise!” Also, “Don’t let flaccidity spoil your fun;” “Be seductive for broads” (straight and to the point); “Be her macho amorousness” (I used some poetic license on that one); “Achieve Clinton’s ardor!”; “Super solution for night revolution;” “Make her your mattress mistress;” “Your male power will return to you like a boomerang” (which sounds rather painful) and one of my favorites, “Your Bank of America account number has expired.” Keep an eye out for me in your junk folder!

Dear Romeo,

I’m not from the area and so am not very familiar with your column but I must write to tell you that after reading last issue’s advice during my vacation you’re exactly the kind of guy who give me the willies!

Margaret N.
Woodbury, MN

Madam, I only wish I had more than one willy to give you. Consider yourself lucky that I didn’t give you several strokes!

Romeo,

My wife and I have a very active fantasy life and have found that as ridiculous as many of these fantasies might sound to some people, they have enriched our sex life one hundred percent! Luckily, we’re surrounded by friends who aren’t creeped out when we tell them about one of our favorites that involves our natural surroundings in a very creative way, if I do say so myself. I goes a little something like this: I go out surfing for a few hours and after the session I pretend that I’m a castaway on a deserted island (not very difficult when you live where we do). I get out of the water, roll myself in the sand and crawl “exhausted” onto our back porch whereupon I rap weakly on the sliding glass door begging for help. Though there are some titillating variations on this theme, usually “Claire” then comes to the door in her bathrobe at first in shock, but then in pity helps me inside. She gives me a glass of water and feeds me some cool slices of papaya (which we always have on hand for these occasions) and nurses me back to health. Throughout the course of the evening, we grow closer as I recount my terrible journey across the sea to her and then we fall into a loving embrace on our silk-sheeted bed. You can guess the rest. Not only did I want to share this delight with a kindred spirit, but also wanted to express to all your readers the importance of fantasy in a couple’s life and to also find out what fantasies you might have yourself. Sharing them with the world may help numerous couples.

“Frank”
Floridana Beach

Thank you for writing in, Jerry. You make a very important point and I thank you for it — as all beachside couples do! Fantasies are indeed a very important part of the art of loving. As you can imagine, I have thousands of fantastic fantasies that I’ve been fortunate to enact with thousands of willing lovers. But since you ask, I do have one that has, as of yet, gone sadly unfulfilled. It too uses our area to very creative ends, involving as it does one of the many female members of the military who we are so blessed to have residing on our shores. Without going into too much detail for fear of ruining the untapped magic of the eventual moment, I become “Private R. Pomodoro,” a very willful and unruly cadet who is in great need of discipline. My military lady in question (she is of higher rank, of course) approaches me sternly in her crisp uniform and shouts at me very loudly, enumerating all of my faults in humiliating detail. I’m insubordinate, filthy, unpatriotic, lazy, unkempt, unmanageable and unloved. But I am also the only one fit for a top secret mission that will save the country from certain destruction. She then takes me roughly into the bedroom where I am debriefed and given a good tongue lashing. To get me in shape for the mission, she then asks me to perform about 375 very pleasurable and forceful push-ups for her. Please, ma’am, may I have some more? Mission accomplished!

Dear Romeo,

We all no you love sex, but do you have any other vices? Just wondering. It helps me and my girlfriends get a better idea of our love idol!

Beth J.
Indialantic

Thank you for asking, Jessica. Romeo’s life is wonderfully free of too many vices. I am not a gambler and I don’t use drugs, but I am an obsessive self pleasurer and love Swisher Sweets. I’m a forty-a-day man and smoke like a chimney.

Dear Mr. Pomodoro,

As an 93-year old woman, I’ve seen a lot in my day — the first automobile, the miracle of flight, a man on the moon — but nothing could prepare me for the way TV shows are going these days. Every time I turn it on, I hear foul language and see men and women in various states  of undress. Why, just the other night within the span of just 30 minutes I saw three flashes of breast, a pair of nude buttocks, and a very steamy lovemaking scene that left little to the imagination. And all this before 11 o’clock at night! I consider myself to be pretty open-minded for a woman of my age, but I really think this is too much. I enjoy reading your advice every month and your take on life and love, so I wanted to ask you: what do you think of sex on television?

Myrtle L.
Satellite Beach

My dear, what you describe is indeed shocking, but nothing compares to all the rough intercourse you get from FOX News on a nightly basis, not to mention all their conservative pundits’ heated and usually uninformed ejaculations. But to answer your question, sex on the television is indeed a problem. These new, thin plasma screens make maintaining one’s balance particularly difficult.

Romeo,

“Al” and I have been living together for close to a year now. After three years of dating, we decided it was finally time to move in together and get serious about our relationship. I love Al. He’s a great lover, very romantic, and very good-looking and we have so much in common, from movies and food to politics and ideals. We’re considering marriage, but I’m having a hard time making up my mind about what to do. You see, Al doesn’t do a lick of work around the house, and it’s slowly tearing our relationship apart. I feel that a couple should share household chores and split duties right down the middle. Al is having none of it, though. I routinely find myself cleaning up after him and even vacuumed under his upraised legs last week while he was plopped on the couch watching CSI. It’s getting to be too much. Am I being shallow for thinking twice about marrying Al? In light of all the things that are going well, should I let this problem put such a strain on our couple? Be honest. Should I just ignore his laziness and accept his flaws? Please give me some advice. I’m at my wit’s end. Our sex life has even gone downhill since I started complaining to him. To be frank, I think we made a terrible mistake.

“Flo”
Melbourne

Frank, this situation simply won’t do at all. I do not think you are being shallow at all. I agree that cooperation is an essential ingredient in any recipe for a successful relationship. Let me give you an example. Last week, I hired two young lads to mulch several large islands surrounding my very spacious and luxurious condo on the beach. Because I was paying these lads by the hour, I was somewhat concerned to find that throughout the day they were making long work of a job that could have been done in half the time. Both would spend hours spreading mulch in each area, take inordinately long breaks at the top of each hour, and then waste the rest of the day using their very loud and noxious air blowers in tandem to clean up the other areas they’d besmirched with bits of bark. Needless to say, they hadn’t finished mulching the large back area of the condo by 4 o’clock and informed me that they’d have to return the following day to complete the project. The next morning, I suggested — in fact demanded — that each split duties to accelerate the process. One, I argued, should spread the mulch while his co-worker followed behind him with the blower to clean up the ensuing mess. That way, I reckoned, through cooperation and efficient sharing of duties, they’d be able to finish the job well before noon. And indeed they did. I think a similar approach might help you and Al repair your relationship and get you back to the most important task at hand: passionate lovemaking. To take the example of teamwork I’ve given you a bit further, I really think Al should spread and you should blow.

Dear Romeo,

I know you get loads of letters from smitten girls professing their love for you, but please be aware that I am the real deal. I’m a fiery (and very busty) Italian brunette with long legs and a firm, supple bottom formed by years of intense workouts. More than anything though, I’m sure you will find much to love in my psyche. I’m willing to bet that you have a long list of prospective concubines, but please consider moving me up in priority. I don’t think I can wait much longer…

“Gina”
Indian Harbour Beach

This sounds very enticing, Ginger, but I’ll need more information. Perhaps we can arrange an interview in my spacious and very luxurious condo so I can probe your psyche a bit deeper. Ciao!

Romeo Pomodoro,

I’ve been in the newspaper business for close to 20 years, and I have yet to come across a more pathetic excuse for a column. Your persona is clearly invented, your “advice” obviously ghost-written, and the “humor,” such as it is, is as puerile as that found on late-night reruns of “The Benny Hill Show.” I’m well aware that “Inquire of Romeo” is meant to be mindless entertainment for what must be some incredibly mindless readers, but it doesn’t excuse that fact that your jokes belong to the pantomime stage of yore, with their emphasis on anatomical subjects and tortuous double entendres. Because I’m an enlightened and intelligent woman, I can sign off with pride knowing that I’ve left you with nothing from which to draw some sexual misunderstanding.

M. V.
Cape Canaveral

It’s clear that you find Romeo’s column rather hard to swallow, dear woman, and for that I am sorry.

Dear Romeo,

Everyone has a physical attribute they’re proud of. I myself have turned my most glaring flaw into my biggest asset. Ever since I first entered puberty, I was cursed with abnormally large hips and an enormous posterior out of keeping with my relatively thin legs, thighs and torso. I didn’t have much to brag about in the chest department at all — still don’t — but “baby’s got back,” as they say. From grade school on, I’ve been called every name in the book — “Bubble Butt,” “Suzy Caboosey,” “Suzanney Fanny,” “Cheeks Magillicutty,” and most times just: “Hey you with the big ass!” Well, this caused me great discomfort, as you can imagine, all throughout my sensitive and self-counscious adolescence and long after college had finished. But thanks to a chance meeting with that up-and-coming rapper from Orlando — well, he actually pulled his Bentley over to shout at me when he saw me walking down the road and gushed about my rear end — I got to star in the video for his first single, “Pushin’ the Cushion,” and I’ve learned to love my buttocks for what they are and myself for who I am. I’m writing so that hopefully you will print this letter so that other women with the same problem will find inspiration. Love your column!

Suzanne N.
“The Biggest Butt in Brevard”
Merritt Island

Dear Lucy,

Thank you so much for your, em, uplifting letter about your admirable asset and for loving my column as so many do. I too am an up-and-coming artist of sorts (if you get my drift) and would be happy to help you in your career. “Biggest Butt in Brevard,” hmm? Are you quite positive about that? Perhaps you’d like to back that claim up…straight into my willing lap! Beep…beep…beep…

Romeo,

My girlfriend and me were out together a few nights ago for a few drinks and started fantasizing about male celebrities. After running through the standard list of hotties — Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Leonardo Di Caprio and Carrot Top — the discussion turned to you, and after a few more drinks and a quick vote, we decided you were the one we’d most like to fool around with. At the same time! What do you think? Actually, we’d both like to request your presence at a very special private party we’ve arranged for you. We will fulfill all your deepest desires! Please respond — you won’t regret it!

“Jill and Jenny”
The Jiggle Sisters
Indian Harbour Beach

Well, well, well. What can I say? Thank you very much for your very tantalizing invitation. But most of all, thank you for your vote of approval. I’m always happy to come out on top! Especially since the competition included the great Carrot Top. But in a way, considering how many of these invitations I get, I wonder if the two of you are indeed in earnest. Are you pulling my leg? Could you be yanking my chain? If so, please yank harder and more rhythmically to the left just a bit. In answer to your invitation after considerable rumination — I’m coming!

Romeo,

I have kind of a strange problem. I met this really great guy — “Derek” — and I’m really, really, REALLY into him. We’d been out on a a few dates (all very exciting), but since I’m kind of a traditional, old-fashioned girl, I waited until our fifth date to invite him over to my house for dinner. Up until then, we’d always met one bar or another as I’m a little nervous about showing strange men where I live. You can never be too sure — especially these days. So I had this great seafood dinner ready at a candlelit table I set out on my dock overlooking the canal. When I answered the door and brought him out to the dock, he started acting really strange. He made up some lame excuse about his mom and the hospital and then said he didn’t think it was a good idea for us ever to see each other again. I was crushed! Well, a few days later I was talking with an old friend and she heard from someone that the reason behind his rejection of me was that all along when I said that I lived on the water, he thought I meant on the beach! Turns out he’s a really big surfer and has a reputation for always looking to hook-up with some rich chick who lives on the beach so he can shack up with her, quit working and live on the ocean. I just can’t get over how shallow men can be. Do you have any thoughts on this? Isn’t that the weirdest story you’ve ever heard?

Verna K.
Satellite Beach

That is indeed a very strange story, Lisa. With time, you will forget this shallow man. Men are surely pigs very often. If you need to get away to forget it all, you are always welcome to come to my place. I have a huge dock! If you’d rather, I’d be happy to spend time with you at your place. I would love to explore your canal!

Dear Romeo,

My husband and I are both very busy people, so the few moments we share together are very important to us. The problem is that every time we light the candles and sit down to an intimate dinner, an intense hammering starts up in the house next door and won’t stop until the romantic mood’s been completely destroyed. We’ve talked to our neighbor, a retired handyman, but he just won’t let up with the constant banging in his garage. Do you think there’s a way we can re-establish our love life without having to move?

C.L.
Melbourne

All I can say is that you should be thankful that you don’t live next to Romeo Pomodoro’s home where there is always hammering and banging going on!

What do you think about Facebook and MySpace? I was against these sites at first, but after caving recently and joining both, I’ve found that my romantic prospects have doubled. Of my 227 friends, at least 150 of them are eligible, attractive men. I didn’t join to find a mate, really (well, maybe), but I found the hook-up potential from these sites irresistible. Since I signed up two months ago, I’ve been flirting online constantly and have been on three really great dates with local men I met through friends of other friends. Is it lame to use these things to find love?

“Ruth”
Satellite Beach

Beth, I have to admit that I find these things terrible. It’s a sad state the art of love is in when people begin replacing age-old techniques like eye-to-eye contact with chatting via computer. The dates you’ve made through these networking sites may have been great, but I guarantee you they’re nowhere near as exhilarating as a date with Romeo Pomodoro. Drop these FaceSpace and MyBook sites for good. Try my social networking tool instead. But be gentle!

Ro-Ro!

What’s up? I’ve got a problem. Me and some girlfriends were out partying when the “Girls Gone Wild” tour came through town a few months ago down south and I got filmed taking my top off and doing all kinds of other stuff. I mean, I signed the release form and all that stuff, but I was drunk. Like really, really drunk. The problem is that my kind of straight laced boyfriend who goes to Notre Dame heard from a friend of a friend that I was in like one of their DVDs that just came out. I’m soooo embarrassed and sooo in trouble with him. Now he watched the DVD to get proof and even though you really couldn’t see my face (because my top was up over it when it wasn’t buried in another girl’s boobs), you can totally tell it was me by my curly red hair and the tattoo of the naked fairy on my lower back! I hate to lose him for doing something so stupid. Any advice for me?

Kisses,

“Kim”
Indialantic

Cathy — Unfortunately, I have no advice for you. This does indeed sound like a very bad thing you’ve done. Even worse, from the description you’ve given of yourself and the foolish way you’ve placed yourself at the scene of the crime, I know that on that particular night you did far more salacious things than the camera captured. Red curly hair and a tattoo of a naked fairy on your lower back? Don’t you remember riding on my scooter later that night? I’d know you anywhere, “Kim.” I’m sure that if I saw this DVD to confirm it, I’d be able to finger you as the culprit by the sight of your impressive chest alone! Good luck!

Romeo,

Is it me, or is this country going to hell in a hand basket? I’ve been working for the same company for over 20 years and have lived and breathed my profession. And what do you think I got when I walked into work the other day? The pink slip! All that work, all that loyalty and dedication for nothing. Did they give me severance pay? A bonus? A gold watch even? Nothing. Zip. Zilch. It seems that’s what you get these days for being a devoted, hard-working employee.

“Rick”
Merritt Island

Rich, I sympathize with you. All of us are suffering in one way or another. However, being slipped the pink when you least expect it sounds very painful indeed. They could have at least bought you dinner first… Jeesh!

Dear Mr. Pomodoro…if that is your real name,

Now that this Obama guy is in office, I don’t doubt that we’ll see some dramatic changes in the way this country is governed. Whether those changes will prove to be good for America in the long-term, however, remains to be seen. I have served this great country loyally and faithfully in every job I’ve held, from my first battering chicken planks for Long John Silver’s to my current career with State Farm. Everything we do in our lives molds this nation’s reputation, and I fear that Obama is sending us down the road to ruin. As far as Iraq goes, we must not waver in our resolve to bring those barbarians democracy. If we pull out of Iraq now, we’ll jeopardize everything we’ve fought to uphold, and soon we’ll be overrun by homosexual Mexicans and other Latins like yourself. Are you even a legal citizen? I recommend you go back to your country and refrain from further destroying the morality of everyone who reads your column. I hope the president fails and you along with him.

Hit the road,

F. H.
Melbourne Beach

Sir, I’ll not argue the points you make, as you seem like you’d be very resistant to diplomacy of any kind. Let me just say that we should have pulled out of Iraq long ago. In fact, I’d argue that we should never have gone in in the first place, tactics I can only imagine your father wishes he’d employed on the night you were conceived. Ciao!

I am Mr. Philip Waluta of Ghana (West Africa), sending you this message with very high regard and respect because we have not met or known our self’s before now. Am a director of a private finance and investment company here in Ghana (West Africa). My reason for sending you this message is, I was having a client that was involved in an air craft accident in the year 2000 with Kenyan airways and his name is Mr. Nicolas Bentopson and he was a gold miner in Ghana (West Africa) who unfortunately died with his entire family in the said crash. We have being trying to establish a contact forum but since then nobody has come up to us as his brother or next of kin to claim the deposit he is having with us amounting to the sum of (twelve million seven hundred thousand united state dollars only) and this amount is directly under my control and I have the final say on where and who can claim the fund. Now my basic purpose of contacting you is,  if you can work with me as a partner to claim this amount and send it to a bank account out side Africa which you will nominate and also have total control of, all the paper work are in order, all I will need from you to make this transaction a success, is your complete name and address, date of bath, drivers license, private phone number, social security number, and bank account/routing number. I am going to submit this information as the next of kin to late Mr. Nicolas Bentopson who wants to claim the fund and I will sign the approvals immediately for the fund to be transferred or paid to you in cash as it was deposited, the good thing is that you will not be required to come to my office in Ghana (West Africa) to sign any official document, because as soon as I get a positive respond from you with the information I ask you to send to me, I will immediately reroute the fund to our sister company in Europe for easy collection. Please be rest assured that all modality concerning this transaction are under control by me so do not worry about the safety, just be very honest with me and trust should be our watchword because I will be very open
to you as a partner and a friend. I sincerely hope that this is the beginning of a long and ever lasting relation-ship between us.

Thanks and stay blessed.

Mr. Philip Waluta
Ghana
(West Africa)

Mr. Waluta, I am overwhelmed by this news, especially in light of the following message I received from a young woman (whose father was apparently a business magnet of some renown) only an hour after yours blessed my mailbox (see below). And for your information, my date of bath was only just this morning. Mr. Waluta, meet Ms. Ghonchen.

Dear one,

I am so sorry if I may interrupt or violate any of your policy; actually I am contacting you for a favour. First and foremost and brief self introduction, my name is Miss Firuza Ghochen, 20 years old girl, and the only survival of my late parents. My father, Mehdi, was a highly reputable business magnet (a cocoa merchant) who operated in the capital of Ivory coast during his days. It is sad to say that he passed away mysteriously in Saudi Arabia during one of his business trips abroad on 21st December 2007. Though his sudden death was linked or rather suspected by one of his brother who accompanied him on that trip, but God knows the truth! My mother died when I was just 12 years old, and since then my father took me so special. Before the death of my father on December 21th, 2007 he called the secretary who accompanied him to the hospital and told her that he has the sum of eight million five hundred thousand United State dollars left in one Prime Bank here in Abidjan. And he made the secretary to understand that it was because of this wealth that makes his brothers to be against him, that I should seek for a foreign partner abroad, who will help me get the money transferred to his/her country, and also to travel along with him or her because my life is in danger as soon as his brothers find out about the money. My dear, I am just 20 years old and a Secondary School Level and really don’t know what to do. This is because I have suffered a lot of set backs, as a result of incessant political crisis here in Ivory Coast (West Africa). Coupled that I have been chased out of my father’s house, all because I don’t want to tell his brothers any thing about my father’s wealth which they have plan to take over from me all because I am still a small girl. My dearest one, I am in a sincere desire of your humble assistance in this regards. Your suggestions and ideas will be highly regarded, I want you to assist me get this money transferred your account, as soon as you received it, you will now make an arrangement for me to come over to your country in other to continue my education and also to invest that money into business relationship with you. I will be waiting for your urgent reply and also to know how much you will like to be your own % after the success in getting the money transferred to you in your country. Please my dear, if you find this mail offensive, please ignore it and accept my apology, Thanks once again, and may God almighty bless you and your family, kindly get back to me as soon as you read this message, so that I will send to you all the documents which was sign by my late father, on the day he made this deposit, including the contact of the Bank, so that you can contact them on how this transfer will be made to your account. Now permit me to ask these few questions: Can you honestly help me? Can I completely trust you? If the above question is yes and I see your desire to assist me, I will offer 30% of the total sum. Kindly do respond immediately you receive this mail for more information.

My Best Regards,

Miss Firuza Ghonchen

Ms. Ghonchen, this must be my lucky day. Due to my chivalrous nature, I am willing to supply both you and Mr. Waluta with the information you both seem to so desperately need. I cannot, however, disclose the necessary account and routing numbers in this column as it would reveal them to every Tom, Dick and Harry in the U.S. as well as to every Philip, Firuza, and Mehdi in West Africa. Write to me again in secret on the 32rd of Febtember and I shall assist you.

Dear Romeo,

Like many other women out there, I have a complex about my butt. I can’t remember a time when it looked the way I want it to. When I look at pictures of myself in bathing suits, it either looks too saggy and flabby or too big — but not in the sexy J. Lo big way. What on earth can I do about it? I’ve tried working out and diets, but nothing seems to work. It looks as if I may have to resort to liposuction. What do you think?

Jillian L.
Merritt Island

Ingrid — It sounds to me that your buttocks aren’t all their cracked up to be. Your is yet another sad story for the annals. The Women’s Self Image annals, that is. I suggest rectifying the problem with an immediate liposuction session. Sounds like the procedure might be right up your…um…alley.

Romeo,

Do you have someone that you just can’t stop thinking about throughout your days? Someone who’s always on your mind no matter what you do? I do… )

“Frida”
Satellite Beach
(West Africa)

Crystal — Odd that you should ask this. I do in fact have someone I can’t stop thinking about throughout my days. She’s always on my mind no matter what I do. Unfortunately, she’s my mother. (

A few weeks ago I came home early from work feeling pretty ill. When I walked into our bedroom upstairs, I discovered my husband (who was also supposed to be working) preening himself in front of the mirror dressed in one of my negligees. If this weren’t astonishing enough, I noticed that he was made up in eyeliner, mascara, lipstick — the whole bit. He quickly ran into the bathroom and got back into his work clothes and scurried out the front door without so much as a word. I think the shock of the whole thing hit both of us pretty hard, and we haven’t spoken about the event since. The reality of what happened is only just starting to sink in. How long has this been going on? After 20 years of marriage I feel like I have no idea who “Rick” is. Maybe I never really knew who he was. My world is in total upheaval. What are your thoughts? Should I confront him? Should I write it off as a one-time episode of experimentation? Please reply…

“Shaken and Stirred”
Merritt Island

Poor woman, I can only advise you to wait as patiently as you can for your husband to broach the subject first. Multiply your own confusion and embarrassment by one hundred and you’ll get closer to knowing how “Rick” himself must feel. My instinct tells me, however, that this may only be a mere hobby, a harmless eccentricity that, should you choose to proceed cautiously, will have no major bearing on your marital life. I’m reminded rather fondly of my friend Vittorio (“Vito/Vita”) from Genova who when in Italy was as macho as they come, but when overseas indulged in flamboyant tranvestitism. None of his friends back home were the wiser. As he once told me, “Cross-dressing is only something I do when I’m abroad.”

Romeo,

As you know, times are tough. I can barely scrape two pennies together, I’m in the process of losing my home and my husband, and my job looks like it will be cut before the year is out. To make ends meet, I’ve begun selling my ova to a few local clinics. Not only do they pay well, but I know that what I’m doing will help an infertile woman out there who desperately wants children. Me? I’ve always known that I don’t ever want kids. What I do want though is some sense of security. I plan on donating as much as I can before my clock runs out, but I know that it can’t support me for long. Also, as a semi-devout Catholic, I occasionally suffer from pangs of guilt. Do you have any ethical problems with this practice?

Bethany L.
Indian Harbour Beach

Brittany — Though I’m no seminarian, I personally have no ethical problem with it, but I would caution you not to put all your eggs in one basket, so to speak. It’s good to know, however, that though you may be losing your home, you’ll always have a womb of your own. See the next inquiry for more on the subject.

Dear Romeo Pomodoro,

My partner and I recently gave birth to a lovely son, thanks to the miracle of artificial insemination. “Lilly” and I spent the better part of a year shopping around for a suitable donor, and the sperm donor we chose (we call him “Gregory”) seemed like the ideal candidate. We learned from his file that he came from a prominent and very wealthy New England family whose roots traced back to the Mayflower and that he was an avid sportsman and a Wall Street genius who was handsome, disease-free, and uncommonly intelligent. The problem is that while our boy is more than we could have hoped for and the very light of our lives, he has turned out to be very, very sickly. Not a week goes by that we don’t have to run to the doctor or the emergency room for fevers, coughs, colds or skin infections. We’re beginning to think that our donor, “Gregory,” wasn’t all he claimed to be. We don’t know what to do. We’re kicking ourselves for not contacting you first. I don’t know what we were thinking.

“Dora”
Melbourne

I don’t know what you were thinking either. Ever since my days in the seminary, my reputation for being a prime sperm donor candidate has been disseminated all over the world. One seminal moment in my youth occurred when a local girl asked me to assist her as her husband, a seaman, had no interest in having children. She gave birth to two beaming boys who have gone on to enjoy lucrative careers as backup dancers for Patti LaBelle. Next time, please come to me and I will oblige you in your hour of need. As for this “Gregory” donor and your situation, I’m reminded of 2007’s recall of Peter Pan and Great Value peanut butters which were found to have carried traces of salmonella. Though the FDA and CDC came up with all kinds of excuses and supposed origins of the outbreak, it was found to come simply from tainted nuts.

O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?

I have to tell you that I’m totally in love with you. I’ve always had a soft spot for Italian men, but you are the most wonderful guy I’ve ever come across. I’ve been in love with you ever since your advice column appeared in the Resident nearly five years ago. Has it been that long?

“Juliet”
Satellite Beach

My dear, it has been that long. In fact, it’s always been that long for as long as I can remember. I’m glad you’ve always had a soft spot for Italian men, because I’ve always had a hard spot for women who have soft spots for Italian men. Let’s get together!

Dear Romeo,

In a relationship, do you think the woman should handle the finances?

Anne W.
Cocoa Beach

Personally, I’ve always liked it when the woman handles my finances. In fact, I prefer a woman who keeps a firm grip on all my private affairs. Don’t let go!

Like so many other women out there who are “cleavage challenged,” I’ve resorted to the use of the Wonderbra and various offshoot products to enhance what nature left so cruelly unfinished shortly after I turned 9. I can’t tell you how much this “push” has done for my self esteem, not to mention my standing with beachside males. The only thing is that I feel slightly guilty once the bra comes off and the underwhelming truth is revealed. No one so far seems to mind very much, but still, I can’t help feeling deceitful. What are your thoughts on the subject? Should men fee cheated by the Wonderbra?

“Sandra”
Sebastian

I can’t lie to you, Victoria. Although I myself don’t care what’s behind the brassiere (it’s considered a triumph enough to have gotten that far by most men), there are undoubtedly many men who believe strongly in getting what they paid for, so to speak. I liken the Wonderbra deception to opening your grocery bag once you’ve arrived home expecting to grab the two luscious pink grapefruit you purchased only to find that the elderly bagger mistakenly switched it for someone else’s sack of kumquats. You might nibble on them out of boredom, sure, but it’s simply not the same as biting into what you’d been craving all day. The best way to address this is to ask yourself how you’d feel in a similar situation. How would you feel, for instance, if I brought a twizzler to a pole vaulting event? See the next letter for more thoughts on the subject.

Romeo,

For month’s I’ve been attracted to this guy who tends bar at me and my girlfriends’ local. We used to go there every Wednesday for Ladies’ Night, and to see “Rod,” who was (until recently) one of the biggest hunks around — in more ways than one. We already had the hots for him when he was behind the bar — solid chest, broad shoulders, huge biceps, chiseled jaw, piercing blue eyes, and awesome gelled hair — but last week when he walked out from behind the bar to collect some empty glasses, he revealed another incredible asset — and I don’t mean his tight tush. “Rod” had a bulge in his painted-on jeans that looked like a huge yam! Just last week, I was lucky enough to close down the bar with him (we were the only ones left in there) and we got down to business. Imagine my dismay when he removed his pants and an actual huge yam fell out of his tighty-whities! Not only did I laugh uncontrollably, but found that his hotness dropped dramatically and we never finished the deed. “Rod” has now gone down in history as one of the biggest losers in town. Needless to say, we’ve haven’t been back to his bar since. Please get the word out that stuffing your pants to impress girls is totally lame.

Fran D.
Cocoa

Dear Glenda,

Having subscribed to this practice on more than one occasion, I can tell you that it should only be done to enhance rather than replace what should already be impressive endowment. I have used small bananas, zucchini, parsnips, carrots, medium-sized ginger roots, and once, while living in Miami, two apricots and a perfectly-contoured malanga, but these were mere adornments to my natural gifts, which have for many years been the subject of praiseful odes from Lisbon to Lesbos. However, these items are always removed discreetly before business is conducted, and the omission of this practice was obviously Rod’s first failing. His second failing, of course, was that he didn’t deliver on what his yam promised. This reminds me of the handsome grammarian who was reputed to have some of the largest equipment in the Università di Padova where I studied during the early 1980s. Girls were forever ogling his gargantuan bulge, but none but the alluring coed Guiliana Indecente was successful in meeting the man in flagrante delicto. The poor girl was expecting to find an epic, poetically-woven, Dantean run-on sentence within his tight Sergio Valentes, but unfortunately, all she got was a dangling participle.

Dear Romeo,

Here I am reading your hilarious responses over and over and trying to imagine what you sound like. I know that meeting you anytime soon isn’t very likely because I’m stationed in the Philippines, so all I can do is imagine the sound of what must be your incredibly sexy accent. Can you at least send me a recording of your voice in the meantime? I’m dying of passion and curiosity.

“Pvt. Benjamin”
Sangley Point Naval Base
The Philippines

My dear, sending a recording isn’t really necessary, as you may be able to tune in via the internet to my late-night love advice radio show, “Nocturnal Emissions from Romeo Pomodoro.” People do tell me, however, that I sound like Barry White and Luciano Pavarotti trying to squeeze into the same tiny thong, which is actually far more erotic than it sounds. If you do happen to have trouble tuning in to my show due to connection problems or military censors, write back and I can create a cassette recording of my voice and send it to you in the Philippines to quell your desires. Should I send it in a manila envelope?

Ro!

What’s up with St. Patrick’s Day? How did it all start?

“1/27th Irish”
Melbourne Beach

St. Patrick, the patron saint of Ireland, is reputed to have rid the Emerald Isle of snakes and invented the shamrock, striped green stovepipe hats, riverdancing, and the fiddle. Each March 17th, smack-dab in the middle of Lent, we celebrate his also having invented the missionary position on that date many years ago during a poorly attended Sunday mass by drinking ourselves into biblical oblivion. Amen!

Romeo,

Have you read all those articles in girlie mags about repairmen bagging lonely wives? Do you think they’re true? How do I get into that line of work? Sounds great!

“G-Dog”
Satellite Beach

Sure, it sounds good on paper, T-Bone, but that paper unfortunately is a diploma from the University of Phoenix, which, oddly enough, isn’t worth the paper its printed on. That said though, any kind of degree could mean the difference between you laying pipe for a curvaceous soccer mom or hanging drywall for a bedridden retiree. I suggest hitting the books for a start. Study hard and concentrate on your testes!

My husband and I own a successful furniture shop in the area and have recently branched out into collecting rare antique pieces. To make a long story short, when “Antiques Roadshow” came to Orlando a few months ago to film a segment, “Ron” and I took a 17th-century Chinese dowry chest to get appraised. The good news is that the piece was valued at $30,000 (we bought it for $50 at a local flea market), but the bad news is that Ron sold it and ran off with the appraiser. Ron’s a fink and I’m not interested in winning him back. But since the chest was bought with my money, I feel that I deserve to get it back. I’m fed up with the legal process and am looking into other “avenues,” if you get my drift. Any ideas?

“Donna”
Cocoa

Dorothy, I do in fact have a detailed map of the “avenues” you seek. On one of these particular avenues — Viale dei Ladri — resides my cousin Vincenzo “The Gerbil” Brunelleschi. He’s much tougher than his nickname suggests (the story of how he go it is rather unfortunate), but rest assured that he’ll be able to retrieve your precious treasure. Call me when you get it back. I’d love to meet so I can inspect this chest of yours. Maybe after, I’ll let you look in my drawers.

Dear Romeo,

My girlfriend of three years just left me. I’m devastated. What I’m really devastated by is the fact that the breakup was all my fault. You see, she caught me messing around with her best friend when she came home early from work. I’m miserable. What’s worse is that now neither of them will speak to me and I’ve earned myself a really bad reputation around town. Girls won’t even speak to me, much less look in my direction. I’m an incurable sex addict and it looks like I may have to move to satisfy my desires. What should I do?

Casey L.
Satellite Beach

Well Carey, seeing as how none of the eligible females in the area would be willing to keep you happy sexually, I think you should either move or go it solo for a while. It’s hard for females to forgive infidelity, and I don’t blame them. It sounds like you’ve been a very, very bad boy.  I think you deserve a good spanking. But be gentle with yourself.

Romeo,

I’m a big fan of yours. I live in New Jersey now, but got hooked on your advice column when I worked an internship at KSC last summer. A friend from Melbourne Beach mails them to me each month, but I still can’t get enough. I’ve been trying to come up with some kind of love problem so I can have an excuse to write you. Well, I’ve got nothing. I must admit that I’m in a great relationship with a fabulous guy. But the girl who works at my local deli has developed a huge crush on you ever since I turned her on to your writings. Expect to hear from her soon! Anyway, I love you Romeo! Keep up the great work!

Ciao,

Julie Cassata
Hoboken, New Jersey

Judy, thank you kindly for the words of praise. But how does this fabulous guy you’re dating feel about your love for me and the fact that your hooked on my column? Surely there’s a  salacious story there, no? Regardless, I do look forward to hearing from this deli girl. I’ve had a thing for deli girls ever since I met Celestina, whose father owned D’Annunzio’s Delicatessen downstairs from my childhood home. One day when I went down to order a half-pound of mortadella for my Mamma, she slipped me the tongue. She even held my package for me all the way up to my room! Yowza!

Romeo,

Valentine’s Day is coming up and I was hoping you could dispense some advice for myself and my wife. Where should we go? What should we do? What should we eat and drink to electrify our love life?

Sincerely,

M.W.
Cocoa Beach

W.S., are you that pathetic that you need Romeo to tell you how to attend to your wife on the most important day of the year? It seems so. For starters, I suggest taking her to Burger King. Get the Triple Whopper for yourself and some tap water for her. Then take her to Beef O’Brady’s for 2-for-1 pitchers, get silly drunk while she looks on disgusted, and insult her repeatedly, preferably drawing attention to the increasing size of her waistline. Fight like wild beasts of the forest and threaten divorce. If she still allows you to drive her home, stop by my place, where I will greet her with a 10-tiered chocolate strawberry cake garnished with a Swarovski crystal necklace, a flamenco guitarist, a magnum of Dom Perignon on ice, and a hot bath filled with rose petals. The make-up sex will be incredible. Not make-up sex with you, but with me. You’ll have to leave. We shall love like wild beasts of the forest. Don’t worry; in the morning she will be forever in your debt. I, on the other hand, will be forever in her pants. Happy Valentine’s Day!

Romeo,

What are your feelings on breast augmentations?

Anon.
Indialantic

They feel like sandbags, as far as I’m concerned.

It has been literally centuries since our last meeting, however, as has occurred with your carissima Mamma, I have miraculously recovered, thanks to San Gennaro, from the vile poison I consumed so long ago, and am in buonissima salute. One might even say that I am voluptuously endowed, which has always been your preference. Upon my rinascimento, I was sent for recovery to the bellissime beaches of Napoli, the well established Cita’ dell’ Amore. There, of course, I was educated profundamente in all matters sensuali, and romantiche, along with the other Arte Belle. Among my required study were the instructive works of the great Italian stallion, Boccaccio, who actually learned everything in the Decamerone in Napoli, rather than in his family’s cold Tuscan countryside. Just the thought of the North makes my blood turn to ghiaccio (Mi scuzi, ma credo che nell’ inglese si dice: ice.) in my veins! Per continuare, my discourse up to this point has only been to bring you up to date on my Rinascimento Miracoloso and Risorgimento al Mare. However, as I have just recently become aware of your existence during my piccolo soggiorno in your area, I would now like to comment briefly on some of the correspondence you have received from your local, confused males. As you noted, the marinero focused on his naval should raise his head so that he may better observe the exciting attributes of a REAL woman. Yes, dreams can come true! Also, as you so succinctly observed, the “reasonably handsome” General should realize that women are not interested in men who jingle their jewels in their pockets by day and spend the nights playing ball with their privates! Rather than men with “pumped up” bicepts, we prefer those of normal proportions, but with the developed intellectual perceptions and sensitivities to indulge in romantic foreplay and nights spent in delightful one-on-one intercourse. As regards your arch nemesis, Renzo, I have yet to meet him alfresco nor al coperto , but would like to remind him that the pomodoro, or “golden apple,” is actually the very sensuous ingredient that gives the sexually vibrant red color and healthful aphrodisiac benefits to the sauce served on the otherwise bland pasta alle vongole or ai polpetti so gluttonously consumed by the populace. Every woman worth her sea salt and well versed in the arts of la bella cucina knows that the creamy white sauces of the North cannot compete in these matters with the salsa Fra’ Diavolo nor the salsa Puttanesca of the South!

Arrivederci, Caro Romeo!
Giulietta
Napoli

Come again?

Romeo,

My wife and I have been married for 15 years and our love life is beginning to show signs of strain. Just between you and me, we haven’t slept together in five years! I consider myself to be pretty handsome and fit, yet it’s always me who starts making the moves. She’s just not interested. I’m dying for some sexual contact from her but don’t know what to do. Our anniversary is coming up this month and I’d like to take her somewhere that’ll put her in the mood. Can you suggest a romantic restaurant to help spark our sex life?

“Kirk”
Satellite Beach

Dear Chris,

I recommend taking her to place where lobster is served. That way if all else fails, you’re guaranteed a nice piece of tail.

Romeo,

Do you really think your answers over before you send out your advice? I’m a licensed relationship therapist and have conducted many studies in the field. Based on a few cursory readings of your column over the past year, I can tell you that your responses need to be more circumscribed.

“Dr. Sam”
Melbourne Beach

Rev. Bill, for your information I was circumscribed at birth.

R.P.,

Do you have any thoughts the erection?

Yuko M.
Kobe, Japan

Yuko, I cannot answer this question in good conscience. Let’s just say that I’m happy Obama got into orifice.

This Holiday Season, I’ve decided to give the gift of women’s empowerment to all the females of the beaches. No longer will me and my sisters stand for the way you sex-obsessed animals treat us. This Christmas, I encourage all beachside women to settle for nothing less than the removal of your offensive advice column from what is an otherwise excellent publication. This Christmas, I give to all local women the gift of freedom from the macho idiots out there like yourself who think we’re good for nothing but sex. Down with Romeo and all male chauvinist pigs!

(Unsigned)
Satellite Beach

Is it chilly in here, or is it just me? My dear unsigned, the point of Christmas is not only to give, but to receive. Therefore, I must give you something in return. What would you like in your stockings? Two warm, firm hands? I’m guessing no. I think I’ll just give you a nutcracker. But be gentle!

Romeo,

Your approach to women leaves a lot to be desired. Don’t you think that being a bit more attentive to women’s emotional needs will get you more quality relationships? Your outdated methods rub me the wrong way.

Kat S.
Cocoa

Melissa, tell me how to rub you the right way and we’ll get somewhere. More to the left? Down? Farther? In small, rapid circular motions? Tell me, my dear, what your desire is and I will take you over the moon…or at least just over the Georgia border. 3, 2, 1 — blast off!

Dear Sir,

I think that all men are bums. And you must be the biggest bum of them all!

Merry Christmas,

“Jenny”
Melbourne Beach

Speaking of big bums, Jessie, I bet I could shine yours up to a nice chrome-like shine with some of my expensive imported oils and lotions! Your insults, while duly noted, are a bit tired. I suggest adding some new ones to your repertoire. Call me and I’ll give you a good Italian one to stick in your arsenal! Look out!

Romeo,

I suffer from a really poor body image. I am, I admit, a little on the “plus” size, but I’m putting off exercising and trimming down in the hopes that “big” voluptuous women will come back in fashion in a few years. Until then though, I think I’ll stay feeling pretty low. Any words of encouragement?

“Tabitha”
Cocoa Beach

Terabitha, if I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me? Please do. Because despite what many women say about me, I am an equal opportunity seducer. In fact, I’d say that bigger is better. And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. However, those jeans do make you look rather fat. Take them off and come to Romeo! But please wait till I fasten my lumbar support belt.

Dear Romeo,

What is your view of sadomasochism?

J.L.
Cocoa Beach

From the mirror on my ceiling, it looks pretty darn good to me!

You may have heard that laughter is the fastest way to a woman’s heart. Now, I consider myself to be in possession of a pretty good sense of humor, but few men have been able to really crack me up on a date. Along with their tired old pickup lines, the jokes I hear come out of their mouths are terribly juvenile. You seem like a funny enough guy. What would you say to get into my heart?

Julie H.
Satellite Beach

Forget about getting into your heart, Jackie — I’d like to find a way of getting into your blouse! But honestly Jenny, it seems clear from your letter that you are an exceptionally intellectual woman who’s fond of a smart joke. How about this one: When the Chinese psychologist retired and opened up his own restaurant, what specialty did he serve? Egg Foo Jung. No? Then how about this one: A small boy was lost at a large shopping mall. He walked up to a uniformed policeman and said, “I’ve lost my grandpa.” The cop asked, “What’s he like?” The little boy replied, “Jack Daniels and women with big tits.” Zingo!

Mr. Pomodoro,

As a naval man, I’ve been all over the world and have loved many women from many different cultures and countries. Problem is, I still haven’t found the woman of my dreams. Am I missing something? Any advice on where to go?

“Chuck”
Melbourne

I’m more of a breast man myself, but that’s beside the point. Chad, it might help to know where you’ve been searching before I can give you any advice. I’m guessing you’ve already been to Asia, and most likely Europe and Africa, so I can’t see what your problem must be. Maybe it’s because you’re a naval man! I’m sorry. That wasn’t very nice. I honor your service to our country. You are a true hero and an inspiration to all of us. Just don’t bend down for the soap! Yow!

Romeo,

I’m also a military man and have a hard time keeping a steady girlfriend. You’d figure someone of my rank (I’m a decorated General) would be attractive to the opposite sex. After all, I make good money and am still reasonably handsome. I’m also very fit, as me and a few of the privates on base have put together an awesome beach volleyball team and play every night. What could the matter be? Please give me some advice.

“R. T.”
Cocoa Beach

Sir. May I call you Sir? Women are very sensitive creatures and very confounding as far as their likes and dislikes are concerned. What may be handsome to one girl may not be considered handsome by a great many other females. Also, money is far less important to women than it’s made out to be in the media, and contrary to popular belief, women have very simple tastes in men’s physiques and don’t necessarily like very toned and muscular men. I mean look at me! I’ve got more action than a Steven Seagal film festival! I can’t see why you’re not having much success. Though perhaps this beach volleyball team could be at the root of it. Maybe you should spend less time playing with your privates. Sir.

Romeo Pomodoro,

Lorenzo, your arch nemesis here again. You might be surprised to hear that I recently received a letter from my cousin Inconstanza back in Italy. She tells me that she frequently sees your mother in the market and for each Sunday mass at La Nostra Signora del Dispiacere del Infinite. It seems she is not dead, as you claimed, but in very good fettle. In fact, Inconstanza saw her carrying two chickens and a large mule home for dinner just last week. This is a terrible lie you have told me, Romeo. Are you afraid to meet me for battle? I challenge you again to a public duel to settle our differences once and for all. Listen: Can you hear that? That is the sound of the women of the beaches applauding loudly for my victory!

Until We Meet,
Lorenzo Alfresco

Renzo. It just so happens that Mamma was gravely ill, but happily has miraculously recovered. You must have misunderstood me. I am not in the least bit afraid to meet you. Name the place and the time and I will be there. Just be good enough to wait until after the election. And I am not surprised that you hear the sound of the women’s applause. After all, it is you who have given all of them the clap!

We heard all this stuff about you and your nemesis leading up to a big fight, and then nothing. What’s happening with you two? Are you guys going to rumble or what?

Alice F.
Cape Canaveral

Of whom do you speak, Alison? Lorenzo Alfresco? That worm has never returned any of the postcards I sent inviting him to battle. I warned my readership of his cowardice, and now I am proven correct. Have no fear of Lorenzo Alfresco, dear woman. He has vanished into the depths of his own hairsprayed ego and cheap naugahyde vest. Now that he is gone and I have triumphed, I have decided to revert to my old reprobate ways and have now forsworn celibacy. Romeo is back! Do you want a piece? Be careful, I’m zestier than ever!

Romeo,

I still consider myself to be an attractive woman, but people tell me that I exercise way too much and am getting too thin. The problem is that I’m obsessed with tabloids and their constant coverage of women who’ve let their bodies go. I know I’m not a celebrity, but I can’t stand the thought of someone seeing my body getting flabby. I mean, what would people say? What can I do?

“Angie”
Melbourne

This is clearly an unhealthy obsession, Amanda. Please remove yourself from this evil treadmill before you get any thinner. Do you need help getting off? Call me! Thanks!

Dear Romeo,

I’ve got this old manual camera I bought on Ebay and I’m trying to get into artistic photography, but I’m having a hard time figuring out how to work it. You’re involved in the arts, aren’t you? Can you help?

Destiny P.
Viera

Debbie, when I first moved here I worked for Glamour Shots where I was in charge of fluffing up feather boas and polishing brass bed posts. Cameras, I don’t know too much about. But it sounds like you need to master your F-stop, which I think is just above the G-spot. I can help with that. Cheese!

Piccola Maria!

It’s Lorenzo! Why haven’t you returned any of my calls or emails or certified letters? And why haven’t you been answering your doorbell? Are you on vacation? The last time I saw you was when we ran into each other at Tootsy’s and you had to leave very quickly because you said very softly that you had laryngitis and that you just had back surgery and were in pain and that your mamma had just died and that your hermit crabs needed to be fed. We still need to plan that battle we’re supposed to have to decide who is the sexiest and best love advice columnist in the area. I’m pretty busy, what with all of my sexy activities, but get in touch with me and let me know when we can get together. Remember, I live just next door to you!

Ciao,

Lorenzo Alfresco.

P.S. — I didn’t know you had crabs!

Renzo. Unfortunately, I am still recovering from back surgery and am busy making funeral arrangements for my late mother and cannot undertake any kind of battle for the next few months. But when I am ready, I will meet you at the local bocce courts where I will knock your balls back into the Late Cretaceous Period. And yes, I have three hermit crabs: Piero, Salvatore, and Keith. They’re doing fine now, thank you.

I think that as a man of European extraction, you may have some valuable insights into what’s going on with Russia and Georgia. What a mess! Can you explain some of the history behind the conflict for some of your less erudite readers? What the hell’s going on?

Confused in Satellite Beach

Dear Confused,

It’s not hard to become addled by all the conflicting information coming out of this very troubled region. If you read my informative blog on the subject, found at www.romeosworldoverviewandsex.com, you may gain some insight into the roots of the crisis. All I can say is that I’m glad that Russia finally pulled out of Georgia. I pulled out of Georgia too, once. And do you know something? She never thanked me.

Hey Romeo,

Since you’re so smart: If you had $5,732.43 in one pocket, and 167 quarters and 315 nickels in the other pocket, what would you have?

Somebody else’s pants on.

Romeo,

If you were a sandwich, what kind would you be?

Just wondering,

Stephanie J.
Merritt Island

Aha! You think I’m going to say something suggestive, don’t you? You’d like me to tell you that I would be an open-faced, foot-long hot sausage sandwich topped with chocolate-covered strawberries in a champagne cream sauce, wouldn’t you? Well, Romeo is a very simple yet sophisticated man and tries to shy away from crass double entendres. My dear, if I were a sandwich, I would simply be thinly-sliced prosciutto with a sun-dried tomato spread and tapenade on imported Cypriot flatbread. Surprising, no? Would you like a bite? Hold the pickle. Go ahead, hold it…but be gentle!

Dear Romeo,

I need some advice. I’m in love with a guy who doesn’t even notice that I exist. How can I get his attention?

Signed,
Ben Dover

Ha ha. Very funny. This is not the first prank letter I’ve received, and I’m guessing that it certainly won’t be my last. Next time, try using a more original alias.

Signed,

Gocopulatewithyourself Williams.

Dear Romeo,

I was sending an email to my lover when all of a sudden my screen went blank! I’m worried that my husband might get on the computer before I can get it fixed first and may look into my “sent” box and find out that I’ve been cheating. My PC is frozen! What can I do?

Desperate in Melbourne Beach

Dear woman, I have met many women with frozen PCs, and I have skills that can warm them back up. What you need is a hard drive, which I can give to you. But first you must go to: www.romeoscomputerrepairandandsex.com. Click on my hot link for assistance — but be gentle!

Having followed your column closely for the past few months, I’ve become increasingly intrigued by the ongoing saga involving you and your so-called nemesis, Lorenzo Alfresco. I’ve also noticed that he has a love piece in the Apopka Herald Tribune and I have to admit that I find it more informative and unbiased than yours. What’s going on between you two anyway?

Beatrix L.

Satellite Beach

It’s a complex story of operatic proportions, Beth. The evil Lorenzo Alfresco has long been my rival in many regards. Suffice it to say that I have sworn to battle him till the end of time and to protect all women from the lure of his deep, icy blue eyes and unfairly luxuriant hair. He may have won many hearts, but once he has sucked all the life force from them, he casts them aside like so many pistachio shells, of which he is very fond. Now that we have at last found ourselves in the same region, all beings with ovaries should conceal themselves until but one victor emerges from the imminent battle royale. Rest assured, luscious females of the beaches, that good will win. And for the record, Bess, my piece is much bigger than Lorenzo’s.

What up, Ro?

Dude. I got a big problem. Both my buddy and me are in love with the same chick. She’s totally smokin’ hot and me and my buddy have been buddies since way back in the day — old school style. My buddy’s thinking that we should both date her, but that kind of weirds me out, you know? I just don’t do sharesies. What do you think? Will I be better off by myself and keep my buddy, or follow her and start a fight with my buddy, or just let my buddy have her? Buddy, I’m in big trouble.

Your bud,

J.T.

Melbourne Beach

As we say in my hometown of Santo Ignazio della Tagliatelle, it is better to have a sausage in the hand than two in the frittata.

Dear Romeo,

I’m sure you’re a big follower of Italian soccer, and like me, despite their poor showing in the recent UEFA series, you’re probably wondering who’ll make the cut for the team when the next world cup rolls around. It’s still a long way off, but whose star do you think will shine the brightest?

A Fan.

Floridana Beach

Fanny, everyone looks good out there. I know they’ve been practicing their weeping, tattle-taling and pratfalls religiously in preparation for the next Cup of the World. But I think we’ll be most surprised by a young up-and-comer from my own village named Niccolò Pizzicato. I hear he has great ball handling skills learned in the public restrooms located close to the piazza and has a left foot like an overcooked rotini. Forza Italia? Mamma mia!

Romeo,

You may not remember me, but we shared a night of glorious love one year ago in a small inner tube moored to your dock. Since then, I’ve moved on and have married the man of my dreams. But I still can’t get you out of my head. I’m back in the area for a visit and was hoping we could meet for an espresso. Are you available?

Catherine

Merritt Island

Cassandra! Of course I remember you! Your name escaped me even then, but you were always on the tip of my tongue. And my dock still bears the marks of our night of loving. However, you will find that since the reappearance of my archrival Lorenzo Alfresco, I have changed my once irresponsible ways and am now a paragon of virtue. I must not meet you, as I have forsworn all love activities in preparation for my battle with Lorenzo. I cannot, I fear, meet you for an espresso. Return to your husband, dear Cassie, and rest safely in the knowledge that a piece of my heart will always belong to you. However, you are always welcome to sit on my dock or wax my dinghy.

I just met this phenomenal guy I’ll call “L.” He’s this gorgeous Italian guy that’s so talented and just so incredible I can’t get him out of my head. Everything about him is perfect and I think I’m madly in love. The only problem is that I’m married. Should I leave my husband for “L.”?

K. S.
Cocoa Beach

K, you must be crazy. This “L.” person you describe sounds very familiar to me and very much like my nemesis Lorenzo Alfresco who has recently moved to the area. Let your warning be a warning to all the women in the beaches: This Lorenzo Alfresco is a terrible man and should not be trusted. Do not encourage his advances and stay far away from him. Romeo is the only great lover in these beaches!

Dear, um, what was your name again?

Ron? Rogero? Anyway Ronaldo, I’ve fallen deeply in love with a guy I met recently singing the “Che gelida manina” aria from “La Bohème” in my local pizza parlor. Let’s call him “Laurence.” Anyhow, this guy is like a Greek god…except he’s Italian. I’ve left my husband for him and was wondering if you could write Dale, my husband, and explain to him what happened. I’d really appreciate it.

Linda F.
Satellite Beach

Another foolish woman! Leave this Lorenzo! He is good for nothing! Monogamousness and honor in marriage are more important than silly one night stands! Go back to Dale!

Romeo,

I’m madly in love with a guy who just moved here from somewhere in Italy. “Larry” is everything I’ve ever wanted in a man: he’s handsome, great in bed, sensitive, and he’s great in bed — unlike some of the other Italian guys I’ve met around here — Ahem. Anyhoo, he’s like Fabio and Yanni rolled into one big manly muscular love machine. I’m thinking of leaving my husband to live with “Larry” in the Tuscan palace he built with his own muscular hands. Is it a wise move?

Debra T.
Satellite Beach

If he is like Fabio and Yanni rolled into one, then he must be a Fanny! Dear woman, this charlatan is none other than Lorenzo Alfresco, the terrible, hateful enemy I have sworn to protect all women from! Ignore him and go with your husband to renew your vows and rid this awful man from your mind! He is a false prophet!

Romeo,

I’ve found that since I’ve embraced Zen Buddhism, many facets of my life have improved greatly, not the least of which is my love life. By letting go of earthly concerns and restrictive ideas, I have become a much more sensitive and energetic lover who is able to please his woman like never before. Your reputation as an adequate lover precedes you, Romeo, and I’m sure you don’t need much advice in this area, but you really should look into studying Zen. Do you yourself meditate at all?

“Pete”
Melbourne Beach

Pete, you may surprised to know that I have been meditating on a regular basis for many years now. In fact, I can tell you proudly that I know the sound of one hand clapping. I learned it after many late nights of practice in my lonely youth. And I can tell you that it was very hard.