Big John Hudson burst through the front door of Sarah’s Diner, threw his ball cap down on the table with the lethargic fervor of a cat lounging in a patch of sun-soaked carpet, and mumbled, “I don’t understand women.”

The other members of the Circular Congregation Breakfast Club chose to ignore Big John’s comment. This was a wise course of action because, when it came to women, they were all just as clueless as John. Jimmy never married because he started out dating women smart enough to see his flaws and wise enough to know he couldn’t be fixed.

Tommy Jones, the group’s octogenarian senior member, was a widower, married to his high school sweetheart for more than 60 years — he never had to figure out what to do on a Saturday night. Arnold Tobin’s mistress was his political career, and losing every election was not making for a very satisfying romance. Harrison Winkle was a survivor of multiple divorces — no one ever came to him for dating advice. Mort had the most fulfilling relationship, albeit an online liaison with a woman from Lithuania.

“I met a woman,” John began.

Sighs, groans and general attempts at avoidance quickly slipped between the gritted teeth of the rest of the group. None of them wanted to ruin a perfectly good breakfast, listening to John’s most recent romantic failure.

“She doesn’t like my beard,” John mumbled in a perplexed tone.

“You don’t have a beard,” Harry noted in an equally perplexed tone.

“Exactly.”

“Well,” Tommy carefully responded. “That should tell you something.”

“Right. That should tell you something,” he said. “For sure. Something, alright.” “Yep. That says a lot.”

Everyone was in agreement with Tommy, although no one knew about what.

Big John Hudson scratched his head, looked around the table in bewilderment, and asked in total incomprehension, “That should tell me what?”

Mort raised his coffee cup in an attempt to grab Sarah’s attention. Jimmy shoved a forkful of farmer’s omelet in his mouth. Harry did the same with his biscuits and gravy. Arnold headed off to inspect the plumbing in the restroom. Mort checked his phone in a futile search for a message from his Lithuanian lover. This left Tommy to explain his original comment.

“Well…ya see, John,” Tommy struggled through his response. “We men have our fair share of flaws. We don’t see them. To us, they just seem like normal, everyday ways of doing things.” Tommy stopped and pondered, waiting for the right words to come. “Well … they aren’t really flaws,” he corrected. “They are just the guy way of doing things.”

“So, what’s wrong with that?” asked John. Tommy’s help was not very helpful. “She told me to share my feelings. I told her I liked her — a lot. She didn’t like hearing that.”

“Yep, I got that one once,” Arnold returned from his plumbing inspection just in time to help. “I should have made up something exciting. My ‘feelings’ didn’t impress her, at all.”

“I disagree,” Jimmy finished his omelet and decided to defend the male of the species. “Why is it that we are the only ones with flaws? Why is it okay for women to tell us all about what is wrong with us, but we can’t tell them what is wrong with them?”

“It’s much easier that way,” responded Tommy. “My Helen always let me know when it was time to get a haircut, when my clothes didn’t match, and all those completely unimportant things that made her happy. None of it was a deal breaker for me. I was the happiest when I made her happy”

“Did you get to tell her about her flaws?” asked Jimmy.

Tommy sighed as his voice trailed off, “We were together for 60 years, and I never noticed that she had any.”