On the eve of Valentine's Day, my bride of more than two decades propped her bare feet on the office desk, folded her arms across her chest and told me I wouldn't last a minute as a single male out on the open market.

Well happy day of love to you, too.

Apparently, I'm too domesticated. Or spoiled.

There are few safe responses to a comment like that. All the witty ones will send you directly to the couch for the night.

I settled for discretion.

"That's a load of pig poop," I told Mrs. G. "You've lost your mind."

Her conclusion was reached during a conversation with a divorced guy we know who serves as our dating correspondent. He told Mrs. G. that I've been in captivity too long to remember how to hunt and I wouldn't know where to go on a date.

I told her I would be more worried about going to Safeway alone.

But the more I thought about it, the more I had to admit there was truth here.

What good is being able to fetch a platter off the highest shelf if the only dragons you slay are cockroaches?

Being domesticated had either reduced my desirability or made me lazy. I wondered which was worse.

True, I could shave my chin more often on the weekends, but hey, Mrs. G., what about those legs?

"The niceties of the chase go out the window after you've been married this long," she said.

Yet, while I have to endure gripes about air freshener and taking out the trash, romance for a kept man — and his kept woman — can become a comfortable haiku of winks and innuendo.

Bleach may have no bearing on the open market, but in my world it's an aphrodisiac.

"Romance changes over time," Mrs. G. said. "It evolves. You don't have to bring home flowers to impress anymore. Doing the dishes goes a long way."

Mrs. G. is like a lot of women, married or not.

What they have in common is the desire to be appreciated. To know you're thinking about them. To show you care by helping out without being asked.

Understand that and you're halfway to domestic bliss.

"Neither of us know how to date anymore anyway," she said. "You wouldn't do well because you have a wife who does for you, but neither would I because I forgot how to be flirtatious."

For Valentine's Day, I gave Mrs. G. a card that made her laugh.

And when I opened her card, I laughed, too.

Luck or comfort? I'll let you guess.

Reach Mike Gordon at mgordon@honoluluadvertiser.com.