For months we've all been regaled with Cecily stories. The little girl  with the flapper haircut is a goddess, or so we're told. Ryan has often spoken with reverence of Cecily's allure. She's beautiful, she's smart, she's fascinating and, he told us, quite unselfconsciously, he was going to marry his dream woman in a decade or two.

 When asked if Cecily shared his ardor, Ryan would reply, very matter-of-factly, "Nope. She doesn't even like me." Her indifference didn't seem to phase him. He hasn't reached the point in life where unrequited love matters. He's too busy playing Batman. But all good things do come to an end and recently Ryan confessed Cecily didn't like him at all now. My son gave me the details.

 "Ryan and his friends tackled her on the playground, Mom, and she's mad at him," my son told me. Cecily apparently found being shoved face down in the dirt less than romantic.

 Later, munching on a snack after Ryan had gone home, my 7-year-old reflected on love and marriage. He's not yet interested in girls. To him, they're irritating creatures who force him to play "tea party" and cry when you whack them with a sword. And, he contends, they're bossy. At least his sister and the cute little blonde down the street are. They're always telling him what to do and how to do it. He's not anxious for a girlfriend, but he does admit he'd like a wife someday, although us wives tend to be a whole lot bossier than the girlfriends.

 "Mom, I'm afraid that I won't know how to get a wife," he confessed over a cold glass of milk after a hot day at school. I assured him he would do fine.

 "Well, how do you get married, Mom?"

 I told him how you meet a girl, date, fall in love and then, I said, marriage just sort of follows.

 "Is that how you got Dad, Mom?"

 "Yes. I thought your dad was a handsome devil," I said, smiling at the memory.

 "That was before you got glasses, right Mom?" my son asked.

 Well, actually, I thought he was pretty cute even when I had my glasses. And as the mother of a little boy, I always know where I stand in my child's affection. After all, Mom's the girl all little boys want to marry. And they tend to gravitate toward those who remind them of their moms. We can't help it, we just inspire that kind of thing.

 "So, what kind of girl do you think you'll marry, honey?" I asked, secure in the knowledge my pedestal would never be breached.

 "Tall and skinny, Mom. With long, blonde hair and a truck she'll let me drive. And, of course, she has to like bugs," he said, finishing his snack and giving me one of those milk mustache smiles.

 Ok, so maybe they don't always want to marry their mothers. Can I help it if I'm short and chunky and -- this week, anyway -- redheaded? As for trucks -- don't have one and wouldn't let him drive it if I did. However, I once put a granddaddy longlegs outside so it wouldn't get sucked up in the vacuum cleaner. Does that count?