Along those same lines, an understated approach may just win our eternal respect. A few years ago, I was in Vermont with some friends. On a Sunday afternoon, while the boys were watching the Steelers, the girls returned from the slopes with their adorable ski bunny friend (the one who caused us to jostle in our seats to sneak peeks when she wasn't looking). The ski bunny notices the game, sits down and asks, "What's the score?" Typical girl question (right up there with "Who's playing?"), but since she was cute, we threw her a bone and gave her the score. Then, she drops this one on us: "How come Tomczak's in the game? Did O'Donnell get hurt?"
Nobody said anything. We did a collective quadruple take, eyes bulging out of our heads like Marty Mornhinweg. We were floored.
Finally, I answered: "Yeah, he's hurt. By the way, my name's Bill. Will you marry me?"