Ladies ladies ladies – and guys too of course -– where do I begin?
I was all set to write about the Olympics this week – you know, guy athletes, jocks, the whole appeal, the six-pack, Michael Phels, etc … except, I just got back from a dinner and a more juicy topic has reared its ugly head!

THE GUY BEST FRIEND.

Wonderful in theory of course:
So much more compatible than your girl friends. No competition. No drama. No PMS. Won’t go out and get the exact same Chanel ballet flats that you bought (yes, you know who you are!). More over, He says what he means. He won't stab you in the back. He's rational. Oh, and most importantly, he is not skinnier than you!

Any girl would love to have a guy as her best friend. In fact, my best friend used to be that fabulous guy. We were like 2 peas in a pod; always smooth sailing, inseparable – until he broke my heart that is.

Maybe it's biological. Who knows? Who cares! It is what it is.
We’re no longer in elementary school where girls and guys can be “just friends”.

Or can they? Lets be honest, women are not exactly innocent in all this. We covet male attention and we love the flirtatious innuendo. We can, and always will, push our limits.

So if you truly want a real close friendship with a guy, then be mature about it. Avoid the confusion, have the talk. Set the guidelines. Protect your heart, because believe me, guys are not going to protect it for you.

I took my girlfriend shopping last weekend. She needed to buy some shoes for work so I thought I would be the supportive boyfriend and drive her to the mall and spend a bit of quality time with her. Maybe we would have a coffee after the shopping and talk about us (yes we are at that stage). Having not had a steady girlfriend for two years, I had completely forgotten how genetically different were males and females were when it came to the act of shopping.

I parked the car at the underground parking of the mall and as soon as I had taken the keys out of the ignition and before I was out of the door, she was already in the first shop looking at dresses. I slowly paced my way to her and just as I was about to question the reason why she was looking at dresses, she turns around and asks me if the dress she's holding is pretty. Another thing I had forgotten during my extended hiatus in singledom was that when a woman asks you if it looks good, the answer is usually yes, otherwise she wouldn't have asked. It's confirmation she wants, not interrogation.

So needless to say, she buys the dress and the next three hours are a whirlwind tour of the mall in ways I had never expected. We went to stores I had never known to exist. We window shopped an average of ten shops per minute; and it was efficient. Sometimes we stopped to buy something and other times, she tried on things that she already knew she wouldn't buy. I never dared to ask why she was trying them on. I just moved seamlessly and silently between the shoppers and all the items on sale.

At the end we never had the coffee and she forgot about buying the shoes for work.  She did however have a wonderful day and assumed I had the exact same feeling. I didn't want to spoil the moment. I just smiled knowing I would get my payback next time we go watch a football game together.

Is it just me or has it become the epidemic of our generation that the minute one of your girlfriends gets married, her life long quest becomes trying to set you up with someone – because of course, marriage is such BLISS, etcetera, etcetera.

Now, in itself, that’s quite a noble cause. It would be nice to meet a “normal” guy for a change – more often than not however, that someone is their spouse’s lame best friend who you wouldn’t normally approach with a ten-foot-pole (sometimes not even a 20-foot-pole). Someone whom you and said girlfriend (pre-married-bliss days of course!) would avoid like the plague.

Now, the excruciatingly fun part is how to intricately maneuver yourself out of such situations, without offending your friend’s husband (who is now suddenly in the inner circle and offering you unsolicited guy advice) and of course your dear friend (who has now become an expert on guys who are “marriage material”).

Enter exhibit A, we shall call him Joe. Now Joe is, at first glance, an okay guy. No evident personality flaws, pleasant conversationalist, shirt tucked in, and no blackberry! So far so good. I let myself hope for the best. I start to smile. I unconsciously start to twirl my hair.

I’m just about to turn on my charm when I glance down and glimpse loafers with NO socks! The kiss of death. Yuck. I start to withdraw. I soon tune Joe out completely. I’m getting more and more annoyed by the second. The only thought that comforts me is plotting revenge on my friend. Maybe I’ll invite her sister-in-law out the next time we go for coffee! Yes, I start to smile again; a big smile that catches the attention of poor old Joe. He winks at me. Haram …

Last week, I had a very interesting, humorous, and very futuristic conversation with my father. Not your typical father/son conversation. At a moment in time when we both were suffering from bodily ailments; both of us had lower back pain although of different types, dad and I pondered what kind of improvement on the human body we would like to see.

Between grinding my teeth from the pain and adjusting my posture to a position of least pain, I fantasized about the day where replacing human parts was as easy and efficient as exchanging car parts. I would replace my left knee, my left foot, my left bicep, and three vertebrae (namely L4, L5, and my S1 for those of you who are neurologically versed). I reveled in the image of being able to play basketball again, lifting weights, and maybe even running a marathon. Lying on his stomach and stretching his back in a sphinx pose, dad listened to me with obvious wincing. I looked back at my dad and hoped that his pain was from his back rather than from my ten minute day dream diatribe.

My hopes were dashed aptly as dad revealed a human enhancement that I am proud to explain in this piece. He called it the Human Word-Meter, HWM in short.  The premise of this feature is that every new child would be born with an HWM on their forehead with a preset number of words. A child born with 1,873,321 on her HWM would exactly have that number of words to speak throughout their lifetime. Once the counter reached to zero, she would lose her ability to speak and there was no way to reset or refill the HWM. HWM initial reading were also assigned at random at time of birth, thus a person's character would be determined by their HWM. So if one had an HWM of 2,399 they would need to be the quiet type as opposed to the people with a seven digit HWM.

I listened with fascination as my dad explained the HWM, something that he had obviously thought about for a long time before this conversation. I wondered what had given him the idea. I have a slight suspicion that it's a person; but I love my mom too much to reveal what I think.

An interesting thing happened last night. So interesting in fact, that I had to share this revelation straight away with all of you! So listen up ladies, and write this one down to get the full effect.

All Men Are Boys At Heart.
(Some are actually toddlers, but we’ll leave that topic for a rainy day!)

Case in point, the movies last night.

At one end, my date & I, caramel popcorn in tow, some mentos, 2 bottles of water and a white chocolate kitkat – don’t ask.

At the other end, my Ex (yes, it ended VERY badly), the faux-blonde Barbie giggling by his side, one obvious boob job, skinny jeans, passé hoop earrings and some nachos. Obviously a blind date on his part!

It was too late to turn around now … Let the games begin I thought.

Now standing face-to-face, awkward introductions done, excruciating silence in full swing, when Barbie Doll “accidentally” (NOT) knocks over my popcorn. Both Boys lunge down to rescue it for me and a ridiculous tug of war ensues. Both offer to get me another, ready to wrestle over the task. Playground antics are in full swing when surprise surprise, Blondie offers to get one herself as she is going to get some ice cream.

"Honey," she asks my ex sweetly, "do you want a vanilla cornetto?" "Oh no honey, he doesn’t like vanilla ice cream," I say with a wink. "Chocolate Chip, one scoop, no cone."

I walk away with a definite smile on my face as another epiphany hit me … boys will boys, true … but girls will definitely be girls too ;)