If I’m counting right, yesterday was my twenty-third Valentine’s Day with my husband. He’s taken me through all the phases:
- We’re going to dress up, and I’ll give you wildly over-priced roses, and take you to the fanciest restaurant we’ve ever heard of, one that actually takes reservations, and stare at each other all through dinner.
- I’m completely broke, but I’m going to make up for it by spending a huge amount of time and creative energy making Valentine’s Day special for you. And we’ll stare at each other all through dinner.
- We’ve got money, so I’m going to take you out for an insanely expensive dinner and try to act like we don’t just do this on special occasions. And I’ll stare at you all through dinner.
- Eh, we go out enough. And we’re tired. And babysitters are expensive. Will you cook for me? I’ll buy you something pretty! I’ll even talk to you during dinner.
- And at long last, we’ve settled into: What’s for dinner? Oh, and let’s try not to yell at the kids during dinner.
This isn’t a bad thing. I’ve never been a huge fan of Valentine’s Day. Too much pressure. Too commercial (and if I’m saying that something is too commercial, me, the marketer’s wet dream, then it just is).
I spent all of two minutes planning something for The Ass this year: I told the kids I would pay them a dollar if they took Daddy’s coat and bag as soon as he walked through the door, and waited on him hand-and-foot for the rest of the evening. Which made me look really good, without me actually having to do anything.
Throughout all of the phases, whether there was jewelry, or a fancy dinner, or even a trip (yup, a trip to Vegas one year), my husband has been very consistent about getting me a card on Valentine’s Day. And after all these years, I’m sure it’s hard to think of something original to say. But he manages, every time.
This year’s was perfect: after a message that I won’t share with you (because I’m sure he’s already aggravated that I’m sharing this much), he wrote:
And you shouldn’t feel bad for not getting me a card. (Man, we know each other too well.)
After reading it, and laughing, I asked him what he would’ve done if I’d had a card for him.
He said he would’ve died of shock.
He knows me exactly well enough.
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