Ahhhh, love. This weekend much of the population will celebrate Valentine's Day. Although I love vintage valentine's, I have never been a huge fan of Valentine's Day itself. I am more of a Halloween kind of girl. Give me spooky stories, ghosts and goblins, trick or treating and candy over mushy, lovey-dovey, over the top declarations of love any day. Although chocolate covered strawberries are AAAAAA-MAAAAZING! I know this will come as a shock to many of you, but my bibbed wearing wonder isn't the most romantic man on the planet. Settle yourselves, ladies; he can't be the eye candy AND be romantic. The world couldn't handle that level of perfection...eye roll.
Perhaps you have seen The Valentine's Day Challenge going around Facebook? My darling husband, who laments about being soooooo busy, took the time to fill it out yesterday. He spent the morning giggling like a schoolgirl to himself, and I knew he was up to no good. He has a particular giggle that gives away his nefarious efforts every single time. He begins with, "Darling, have you seen the Bookface Valentine's Day Challenge?" I look at him suspiciously and reply, "Yesssss...What did you do?" He burst into laughter and then asks, "How mad would you be if I had answered all the questions?" My response was, "Dammit, Eric! Why do you have to be such a childish jackass?" He responds, "So, I take it you would be less than happy if I did?" All the while giggling like an idiot.
He then pulls out his phone, tries to pull himself together long enough to read me his responses. He again went with a prison theme for our love story. Sigh...he is so hard to be married to sometimes. A few of his responses are as follows:
Where did you meet? The prison penpal program
Your first date: A conjugal prison visit
Your first Valentine's Day gift: Cigarettes; she needed them as currency
Things just went downhill from there. He is reading me his ludacris responses, laughing so hard at his own futile attempts at humor that he can hardly speak, and then notices I am not laughing. Over the almost two decades of dealing with his nonsense, I have developed an almost impenetrable stone face. I find my cool, stoney gaze makes him very nervous, and I take great pleasure in his discomfort.
He begins prancing just a bit and says, "Come on, I'm funny. Seriously, this is golden." I raised an eyebrow in response. He cleared his throat and stopped reading. I just gazed with cold hard eyes at the bib wearing comedian I hooked my marital wagon to and tried really hard not to smile at his discomfort. "Oh, don't be mad! I didn't publish it. I almost published it, but I thought you might react like this. Although, I am sure you would laugh about it eventually, right? I mean, it is funny, yes?" Still staring. "I hate it when you are in a bad mood and don't find my funniness funny." Long-drawn in-breath, still staring. "Fine, I'll erase it. I don't care what you say; I'm funny." spoken like an insolent child. He proceeds to erase his nonsense, which I am sure he put great effort and a substantial amount of time into. Once I am sure he has erased his imaginative creation, I smile, giggle just a little, and call him an ass. "You giggled! I knew you'd laugh! See, I am funny!" My response was a cool, "Don't be so sure of that." He walks over to me, gives me a big hug, and says, "It's a good thing you have a good sense of humor. I wouldn't want all my talent and funniness to go to waste." Sigh...isn't love grand?
On this cold February weekend symbolic of love and all things amorous, I wish you love, laughter, and perhaps some chocolate covered strawberries. Also, don't forget, dear reader, stay safe, stay smart, and wash your hands.