Ward, I'm worried about the Beaver

Now that I think about it, television has totally screwed up my life.

I grew up wanting Donna Stone to be my mother, although there were times when Laura Petrie would have been awfully fun. Then there were times when I wanted to move in, lock, stock and barrel, to live with Jim Anderson on Father Knows Best.

All of that led, inevitably, to my total dissatisfaction with real life. Unfortunately, one never learns.

When I grew up and started thinking about relationships, my ideal mate would have been equal parts Della Street, Laura Petrie, Samantha Stevens and Honey West (Hey, a guy's got to have a fantasy life!).

Now that reality has totally sunken my battleship, I have to confess to still keeping a few role models in the life partner department.

I mean, it's not that I'm looking for something outstandingly romantic. No Hart to Hart for me. No Remington Steele mystery, either.

Actually, the kind of relationship I want, as portrayed on television, would be the Taylors from Home Improvement. Not that I'm that awful with tools and make everything explode. Not at all. But I do want to be able to laugh with someone. And have that romantic spark that comes out in playful ways.

There's something incredibly sexy about being able to laugh with a partner. Just so long as there's no pointing involved, of course.

Is that too much to ask?

More soon.