Time spent apart is supposed to help you remember the little things.

Sounds like something a relationship expert might say.

I say: Yeah, but not always the good things.

Take my renewed love affair with the NFL for example.

After not watching a single game during a busy fall semester, I watched four last weekend.

And it was almost like running into that kind-of friend from high school or watching an old episode of Full House; you notice traits or characteristics, which were always obvious, but not quite memorable.

For example, I forgot a couple things about the NFL. For one thing: how much I enjoy watching the pro game itself.

It's the greatest spectator sport ever invented, played by the world's great athletes. Thank you, NFL, for the precious gift you've given this country.

Oh, right, and there was something else I forgot, too:

How much of a sissy, girly man I must be. Thank you, NFL, for reminding me.

It's actually not the NFL directly, but all those advertisers during NFL broadcasts, buying into the culture created by the wildly successful sports league.

Thanks to weekend promotion spots for Consort hair styling for men, Gillette and McDonalds I have accepted my status as an effeminate male. Why else would I use Pantene hairspray, scented Bioré facial lotion and have a vague idea of what a duvet cover is?

Though I would've hoped this simply makes me well informed, I now know I have a serious problem on my hands. If you ask NFL corporate advertisers, anyway.

Soon, my male friends -- my "bros" or "dudes," if you will -- may start casting a suspicious eye toward me, perhaps wondering if all those pats on the shoulder were just friendly gestures. Or -- gasp! -- something more.

Such was the fate of the man in the over-used Mickey-D's commercial. He informs his friends that a duvet cover -- pronounced doo-vey (nothing's less masculine than a French word these days) -- is a "decorative sham that also protects." And as predictably as a Penn State draw play on second down, his friends laugh and make fun of him.

But at least it's his friends. I feel much worse for the guy in the Consort radio commercial.

Somewhere near Lewistown I struggled with my radio dial to hear the Eagles game as I was driving back from visiting my girlfriend. Suddenly the static clears, and I hear Dan Patrick, the cardboard cutout persona from which all other white male SportsCenter anchors are cropped.

(I think the ESPN gods decreed this at what they consider the dawn of time. Which is, as anyone who saw those corny countdown shows in the fall knows, 25 years ago for the rest of us.)

Anyway, he's hocking Consort in a clever spot where he answers a letter from his "mailbag." One letter asks if it's "OK" for a man to read a girly self-help book. Dan responds harshly, saying a self-help book "never helped anyone rebuild a transmission." Then, he makes some weird crack about self-help groups and having to hug other men.

Which reminds me, guys. In addition to fast cars and greasy food, we love women. Better yet, twins. Blonde ones, that appear thisclose to kissing one another.

But alas, not all advertisers are so lucky as to have the Coors Light twins in their stable. The woman in the Gillette skin care for men commercial, however, is sultry enough, I noticed.

Seductively, of course, she says something along the line of "I don't want my man using my skin care products." Hmm, yeah, true. You wouldn't want that.

Instead, why don't you buy him the exact same lotion, except with a slightly different scent, more masculine packaging and made by Gillette.

The overall message put forth seems pretty clear. And it's sad that football has to be so jam-packed with ideology.

If you want to be a die-hard NFL fan -- a real man, shall we say -- lord knows you better bring your ultra-masculine, supersaturated heterosexuality, son. Because if you left it home or don't have it at all, which appears to be the case with me, you're going to have to sit with the women folk.

Or, as an alternative, there must surely be some TLC interior decorating show you'd rather watch. Such was the collective mentality -- for last weekend, at least.

As we go deeper into the playoffs, the viewing audience becomes more diverse. And then there's the Super Bowl, which everyone seems to watch. The 18- to 25-year-old male becomes only part of the consumer demographic. So we'll have to see if we see the same thing from the advertising biz this weekend.

But until then, I'll be at the day spa, getting a manicure and facial. After all, my epidermal pores need cleansing and my cuticles are simply a mess. Err, I mean, wait. That's not what I wanted to say. Let me try this again.

So, you guys gonna watch the game on Sunday?