Did someone say chocolate?
Okay, the chocolate is fine. The fact that men buy it at the last minute in hopes of some fun time between the sheets? Not fine. And pretty pathetic. However, I suppose what other people do in their relationships is none of my business.
I think the reason I really sing the boos goes back to my school days, where if you didn't have a boyfriend on Valentine's Day you were a big, fat, depressed loser. Or, if you had a boyfriend like mine, who broke up with you before Valentine's Day or just plain didn't care enough to get you anything, you were a big, fat even more depressed loser.
To make it even worse, our school sold love grams or lollipop grams or whatever they were called and from the moment you woke up on that blessed day, you started praying, "please tell me someone bought me a lollipop love gram. i hope i get a lollipop love gram. i don't even care if it's from the creepy janitor who lives in the locker room showers, just please let me get a lollipop love gram today. OMG I'M GOING TO BE THE ONLY ONE WITHOUT A LOLLIPOP LOVE GRAM!"
By the time you get to school you are a blubbering snotty mess wondering why, why doesn't anyone love me?
There's just too much damn pressure and impossibly high-set expectations associated with that day.
Which is why the husband, who was the boyfriend at the time, and I put an end to that shit right away.
I spent two hours getting ready (refer to pressure and high expectations mentioned above). I don't know what the hell I did during those two hours. I did nothing special with my hair or makeup and I wore a plain tan long-sleeved shirt and black-look-how-good-my-butt-looks-in-these-pants pants. If had to guess, I probably spent the better part of two hours checking out my ass.
We had grand plans to go to a fancy shmancy restaurant. Halfway there we were like, "fancy restaurants blow." We changed directions and went to Scholtzsky's Deli. We were the only two people there, save one lonely depressed employee who mopped the floors over and over. I suspect she was mopping up her tears.
The husband asked me something that night that confirmed what I already knew - I am going to marry that man some day. I can't tell you what he said (I know, I know, so unfair of me to even bring it up, but trust me, if I did tell you, you'd wish I hadn't), but it was hilarious and inappropriate and indicative of a lifetime of irreverent conversations.
You wanna know what he got me? A blanket. More specifically, a blankie. It was the perfect gift.
Growing up, I had a blankie. Its name was Blankie. I also had Puppy and Woah Woah. In case you can't tell by his name, Puppy was a puppy. Woah Woah was a frog. Obviously. He also happened to be a frog without eyes and a tongue. Cuz I bit them off. I was a special child.
When I was three, we went on a trip to Bermuda. I brought Puppy, Woah Woah and Blankie with me. I packed them in my red suitcase and checked my bags. My three beloveds made it to Bermuda, but they didn't make it home. My luggage got lost and I was dev-a-stat-ed.
There is absolutely no consoling a three year old who's lost her Puppy, Woah Woah and Blankie. I imagine it was a very long three days for my parents until my luggage was located.
|Puppy, Woah Woah, and Blankie|
I told the husband about my lost luggage and on Valentine's Day he bought me another blankie, one that I could take on trips with me so I wouldn't have to worry about losing The Blankie. It didn't matter that I didn't travel with or sleep with Blankie anymore. He had listened to my story; he remembered it; he cared; and he bought me the most thoughtful original gift ever.
And everyone says, "Awwww."
|Blankie from the husband. I love the thought of him going into a store and purchasing this.|
I'm not sure if that type of thinking means I hate Valentine's Day or actually expect every day to be Valentine's Day. In fact, I'm not even sure what I'm saying anymore. My head feels foggy and I can't think straight and I have visions of diamonds dancing in my head.
Damn you, Valentine's Day!
This year, the husband and I will celebrate like we have for the last five years: order Sushi to-go, eat it in front of the t.v. and then have sex for four hours.
I'm sorry, did I say have sex for four hours? I meant, rent a movie and fall asleep within the first fifteen minutes.
Aw, Valentine's Day. It's the best day!
Happy Valentine's Day, twats!
Oh, and husband, I'm not totally opposed to flowers and diamonds and chocolate. And bacon! You know, just in case you get the urge. I'm not hinting that you should buy them or anything, it's just...in case. And hey, you never know. It just might get you some action between the sheets. And by "action": I mean that thing we do where you scream and twist and turn away from me as I try to press my freezing hands and feet against you in an effort to suck up your warmth.