Walkie Talkie

Nothing tickles my joy so much as time with a good friend where we open up and tell it "like it is" while on a pleasant walk through a charming neighborhood where the white picket fenced front yards are fragrant with lilies and roses. Imagine this delight made sweeter by warm summer evening air and post sunset golden light. Just a little walk before dinner in a local hotel where the yard fence is decorated with summer straw hats and there's a statue of a poodle at the front door. After dinner, tea comes in an elephant shaped pot and crisp caramel topped creme brulee is delicately served in an espresso coffee cup. The server is discreetly non-intrusive and mindfully attentive. My friend is a regular and obviously well-liked and I was a grateful, admiring tagalong.
We caught up with each others' news, talked about books and movies, shared concerns and joys and when it was over, I could hardly believe that four hours had flowed so effortlessly, in fact timelessly. It was the perfect gal pal date, the kind of evening that makes me glad to be a woman because I couldn't honestly imagine the same effortless experience with a man where somehow there's always the zigzag of ego, a contest, a question about the future, and yes, even sex implied or otherwise. No offense to my sweetie of course, but if all our time together could be as smooth as my chick date, I'd love him even more perhaps.