Most rational thinkers would agree that men revere romance.
That they reveal their reverence with a subtlety masquerading as wordless disinterest is just one of the many ways men present themselves to women as thoughtful, deep and complicated. I am no exception.
I have felt for many years that an unexpressed romantic emotion is one felt with twice the passion.
Hence, when my sister offered my wife and I a voucher for a romantic night for two at Auckland's uber-posh Stamford Plaza, I only needed to flicker an eyebrow for my wife to know I was over the moon.
My sister felt the Stamford's Night of Romance and Seduction would be germane for us to celebrate our 34th wedding anniversary.
As Leonard Cohen was germanely playing in Auckland at the same time, off we went.
"Is it a special occasion?" asked the delightful check-in person at the Stamford's front desk.
"Yes," I replied. "Wedding anniversary."
"Which one?" she asked.
"34," I said. "The Big One."
I imagined her saying to the next couple celebrating their 34th, "Oh, lovely, the big one."
Even in receipt of a wonderful gift and surrounded by kindness, I am constantly looking for the cheap laugh.
Our room - actually it was a deluxe suite - was on the top floor, and we joined an American couple in the lift, their backs clearly bowed from mountainous wealth.
Top floor for us, I said effortlessly as his rich fingers hovered over the control panel. I smiled inwardly. I've never had any trouble holding my own with rich people in Auckland.
Now a cynical man would describe our room differently to me, but I abhor cynicism.
The suite was lit by small flickering candles in every cranny and nook, and from a Sony music machine by the bed, Lionel Richie was crooning Three Times A Lady.
Red rose petals covered the king-size bed in the shape of a giant heart, and a bottle of Moet lay flirtatiously in an ice bucket next to a selection of canapés.
A long-stemmed red rose winked at me from the table, presumably meant for my teeth, and alongside, was a Love Menu of known aphrodisiacs that could be purchased from reception.
In the bathroom, more small candles flickered from all over, while the bath, sensuously too small, like the sleeping bag in Dr No which only just held in Sean Connery and Ursula Andress, was again strewn with red rose petals.
For a man used to enjoying true romance through closed eyes and a grimly-set mouth, this was arresting fare.
Had I not worked out how to turn the lights on, I can only begin to imagine where those red rose petals would now be.
The Stamford Plaza has housed all your rich and infamous in recent years. Photos of Guests Who Matter covered two walls leading into the hotel's Thai restaurant, where we dined that night.
I noted among royalty, cinematic legends, David Bowie and The Rolling Stones, were a few spaces for new entrants. These spaces were doubtless being held for us, and when I saw Jenny Shipley up there, I knew I was right.
But you know, stars, they aren't what they're cracked up to be.
David Bowie? I remember David Bowie in his room at Noah's Hotel in Christchurch being unable to work his toaster. And people put his photo on a wall! It's a crazy old world.
Check-out the next day was a very sensible 3pm - time to fill in the questionnaire. Had we enjoyed the romantic experience? Oh yes.
Please describe in one line your reaction. Lovely, thoughtful, amusing.
Did we purchase any of the items on the Love Menu? No.
I handed the questionnaire in at the front desk, and the delightful check-out person was so happy she handed me a bar of chocolate.
Naturally, I gave it to my wife.
