A distressed southern debutante spilling her lovelorn tale of romantic woe to me by exclaiming in a trembling voice that she needed advice along the heartrending lines of how to get my ex boyfriend to love me again was the very last thing I expected to hear after I had carefully halted my languid stroll through the narrow streets of the “American” quarter of my beloved southern city so I could appreciatively sniff the white carnation lodged firmly in the lapel of my expertly tailored seersucker suit. However, as I leaned gently on the curved handle of my pencil-thin rattan walking cane and contemplated by the rare scent of my decorative flower comingling with heady aroma of the Plimsoll Club’s signature luncheon dish of blackened red fish, but that is exactly what occurred on a bright sun-washed early afternoon in May. The Southern damsel in need of mature advice concerning the artful navigation of her life’s most often nagging question of how to get my ex boyfriend to love me again was none other than young Tad’s object of adoration, Stephanie. Apparently, my advice to Tad concerning suggested methods of obtaining romantic introspection through growing introspection had caused misery and tears for dearly delicate Stephanie. As Stephanie explained it to me, Tad had taken himself off to one of those much ballyhooed spas for a long think amid steamed vegetables and thick terrycloth bathrobes. It was a broken heart puzzle that could not be pieced together on the sidewalk, that was clear, so I offered the beseeching lass the crook of my seersucker-clad arm and escorted her slightly quivering frame into attractively cool and shadowed “Plim”—as those intimate with its cellar and kitchen refer to this celebrated house of gustation among themselves—and girded my loins in preparation for the tricky problem of succinctly responding to the dear lady’s cry for help; after all, it is not every day that I have the distinct privilege of helping a young person who asks me how to get my ex boyfriend to love me again.

After Stephanie and I were seated and had soothing cocktails in front of us, I quickly cautioned her that I was not, nor have I ever been, a professional therapist, thank Saint Expedite!, but I had the good fortune to have “been around the block a few times,” as the less well bred among us might coarsely put it when committing one of their japes. The lady across from me nodded her coiffured head to indicate she understood the context of my forthcoming remarks.

For the next ten minutes, the time it took to finish my Ramos Gin Fizz and indicate to the waiter that we would accept the red fish for main courses, along with an appropriately chilled bottle of bubbly, I endeavored to explain that very often the source of such difficulties as she was experiencing in her relationship with young Tad was the direct result of self-blame. “Oh,” cried Stephanie softly, “it never occurred to me that I could ever blame myself for anything. What an odd idea!”

“Very often, Stephanie, the class of society of which you are a part engages in self-blame, meaning they mistakenly believe that their demands on life, and the people in their lives, are the cause of discord, and this is especially true in instances of love. Of course, it has been my experience that nothing could be further from the truth. Certainly, one of the primary reasons that you may have the tendency to blame yourself for what appears to be the seeming inattention of young Tad is that you need to some way to explain your past as a couple. I assure you, Stephanie, nothing could be further from the truth. I have it on good authority that Tad is simply delving into his own soul, so to speak, and he is doing so in order to make himself more worthy of your attentions.”

Weary and bone dry from such a long disquisition on the nature of the questions of how to make him fall in love with me again and its many manifestations, I signaled our waiter that another flute of icy refreshment was desperately needed. As my waiter re-filled my glass from the bottle in the sterling silver bucket next to our table, he narrowed his usually averted eyes and leaning close to me whispered in the most discreet tone, “Sir, it would appear your ministrations on the lady’s behalf have caused perspiration to appear on your upper lip.”

I immediately withdrew the yard of white silk handkerchief debouching from the breast pocket of my seersucker suit coat and dabbed hesitantly at the area of my face that supposedly showed signs of my labors in Aphrodite’s realm. To my great surprise my silk handkerchief came away with a few damp spots on it. Whoever would have imagines that explaining that love’s labors are not lost to this sweet woman would evolve into a herculean task? Certainly not I, but there the evidence is on my yard of silk, and there can be no debate that explaining how to get my ex boyfriend to love me again is more than meets even the most experienced eye.

Our waiter arrived with our red fishes and we began tucking in, as the English say. Stephanie lifted her heavy fork with just the tiniest bit of firm fish on the tines and paused just before placing the morsel in her well-formed mouth. She said, “I can’t tell you how enjoyable and helpful theses philosophical insights are to me, but could you suggest some more, well, ‘hands-on’ activity that I might employ to make him fall in love with me again?”

I considered her request for a moment as I finished the last of my red fish. As I placed my fork on my plate, I folded my hands under my chin and replied, “You make an intelligent request. I suggest you spend the time Tad is away examining his inner self writing what you know of his history growing up in our fair city, then you write your own history of life in the jewel of the South. After you finish writing both histories, compare the two of them and observe the similarities and the differences. In this way, you should gain a greater understanding of how you and young Tad fit together and how you are both different from each other. Thus, when Tad returns to your warm embrace and the two of you are standing under the pale moonlight of a Southern sky, you will have a much greater understanding of how and why your relationship works and why it fails from time to time.”

Stephanie had a mist of grateful tears I her wide eyes, and I courteously indicated that she should excuse herself and begin immediately on the writing project that would add emotional backbone to her love affair with young Tad. Our waiter anticipated her departure from the table and gently assisted her in pulling back her chair. As she stood much more surefooted, she reached across the table and shook my hand. We silently bade each other good afternoon and smiled happily at the prospect of a brighter romantic future for the pair of love birds, one of which now had an answer to her question of how to get my ex boyfriend to love me again.