April 20, 2006
Romance trumps 'the talk'
The right words negate even 16 hours of loneliness.

Jill Brooks
INtake columnist

What is black and white and every romance frequently has one? Answer: The relationship talk.

Women, rarely men, bring these to light when issues are, as we like to say, eating at us, or even slightly beginning to fester.

The cause of a needed talk can be severe or trifling, but women like getting to the bottom of things pronto; they enjoy "checking in" with the relationship and can put together dramatic discourse from nothing more than a couple of ideas and some glue.

I am, first and foremost, a communicator, so I'm often guilty of this practice.

With a few past boyfriends I used visuals for severe talks, like receipts I found for dinners and gifts I never received.

Visuals tend to make the talk -- and the evening -- a whole lot longer.

Recently I found myself saddling up for a heart-to-heart with my boyfriend; the topic: workaholism (of which I'm completely innocent).

His soul-crushing-Lexis-Nexis job was really the culprit, but I was geared up for a talk, and we were going to have one.

He invited me on a weekend business trip (yippee, a business trip!) to St. Louis so we could spend some time together.

Oh, that romantic corporate world -- they're always getting it right.

I agreed to go, thinking it'd be the perfect time for a chat.

He'd be stuck listening to me for four hours: idealism imitates reality.

He told me how happy he was that I came along, temporarily guilting me out of my semi-practiced speech.

I decided that a controlled environment along a stretch of highway with few rest stops wasn't a fair playing field; I'd save the speech for St. Louis.

I napped in the car.

When we arrived he dropped me off at our hotel saying, "I'll meet you here for cocktails and dinner."

But the corporate teeth had him in their clutches, and I spent the next 16 hours touring the city by myself.

I roamed the streets of downtown (this didn't take long); tested the hotel treadmill and the pool; ate lonely breakfast, lunch and dinner in the lobby bar.

Sitting outside reading a book, I text-messaged my boyfriend: Look under the arch . . . it's me.

He answered right back: I see you . . . and I just took your photo.

Oh, hell, any form of romance negates "the talk," and I'm a sucker for a corporate text message.

We drove back to Indy the next day having a very severe talk about where to have dinner.