Valentine Reject

Love has many faces

Dear Hubby refers to Valentine’s Day as the day he’s going to get in trouble. It’s not that hard guys – let me boil it down for you.

Prove your undying love today.

Just kidding! Hah. Mostly. Haven’t we all been polluted by pop-culture? Must. Fight. It. If you had to choose between Air-brushed Movie Star Man and his bouquet of roses, or a real guy who leaves the toilet seat up (and thinks it’s funny if you fall in), which would you pick? Let’s look at that again. Who do you suppose would be there for you through thick and thin, and endure six months of your whining should you ever be on bed-rest that long?

So far I’ve found no correlation between anything I’ve ever seen in the movies, and that hearts and flowers stuff, and marriage. Maybe that’s just us. I’m married to an engineer. Think a hot Mr. Spock who likes to archery hunt and you’ll have it. Valentine’s Day is as high on his radar as New Zealand’s Waitangi Day.

But I love his guts and I wouldn’t change him. (Well, maybe the toilet seat.) (Yeah, and maybe the hunting, but I digress. That’s another blog post.)

Earlier this week I flopped down next to Dear Hubby on the couch and dropped this Valentine hint:

“Friday is Valentine’s Day. I don’t want to cook.”

DH: “Do you want to go out?”

“Naaah. I’ll be writing.”

DH: “Ah. Do you want me to cook?”

“Naaah. I don’t like your food.”

DH: “Um. What do you want to do?”

“Ohhhh. I don’t know. But we should do something.”

DH: “Do you want anything?”

“Mmmm. I’d still like a hover suitcase. Have you invented it yet?”

And that’s where I lose him, always at the hover suitcase. Today I wandered to the supermarket and picked up two live lobsters. Dear Hubby can boil a mean pot of water. The store was selling piles of roses, and heart-shaped cookies, cakes, candies, you know the drill. I nabbed some chocolate covered strawberries and hit the check out.

The cashier told me I was paying too much for the strawberries. She doesn’t know the half of it, I pick off that chocolate coating stuff – it’s not real chocolate. But I was trying to get into the spirit of the day! They’re festive. She redeemed herself when we got to the lobsters though. She bent down and peeked inside the bag and talked to them like she was talking to puppies. “Oh so sad, oh good-bye, good-bye.” I realized I don’t know this crazy woman, but we could be friends.

And that was my Valentine’s Day. Dear Hubby even peeled the yucky coating off the strawberries with me, AND he washed the lobster pot after dinner. He’s getting the hang of that Valentine thing. I don’t even know what he’s talking about when he refers to it as the day he’s going to get into trouble. Unless he’s going to do the toilet seat thing.

That should be illegal, don't you think?