Oh amour. It’s all around us today. And while I cannot wait for my husband to come home so I can give him the card I personalized and wrote for him, sit down to dinner and indulge in dessert, there are some things that I just don’t get about this holiday and there are some things that I won’t do in relation to it either.
Hubby told me he wanted spaghetti and meatballs for his special Valentine’s Day dinner. We had steak last week for dinner just because and this is what he told me he wants for dinner tonight. He made it easy on me! But you can bet your Cupid stinging heart that there will be no mushy displays of spaghetti and meatball affection a la “Lady and the Tramp.” I’m not sticking my nose into my plate of pasta to push a meatball across a table that I’ll have to clean sauce off of later and I’m not slurping pasta from my husband’s mouth either. I bet Alicia Silverstone has no problem with things like that, though.
That brings me to dessert–a different kind of dessert. Edible underwear, whipped cream bikinis and body sauces. Not for me. I get on my husband’s case about not eating snacks over a plate and leaving crumbs. I wouldn’t want to be thinking about having to clean chocolate off the sheets during a rather intimate moment. Food should go into the body, not on it.
…which brings me to lingerie. The first Valentine’s Day I celebrated with my husband, he wanted to get me something from Victoria’s Secret. I gritted my teeth when he asked me my size in intimate apparel, but I was pleasantly surprised when instead of some lacy string of dental floss, he presented me with a tasteful red bra and underwear set. It was sexy enough for Valentine’s Day, but practical enough for me to wear throughout the year. I don’t believe in expensive lingerie that’s just going to be taken off in a matter of minutes anyway. Ain’t nobody got time for that!
Chocolate and flowers? My husband doesn’t believe in buying bouquets of flowers because they die. But I buy the house flowers anyway because they’re pretty. And while I love chocolate, I’m rather picky and somewhat of a snob when it comes to it. Godiva and Lindt truffles win my heart, but considering my husband is a fan of Hershey’s, he’d probably be appalled to know that one truffle is about the price of one bag of Hershey’s kisses at any of these chocolatiers. So I buy myself chocolate, too. And I don’t share it. I don’t share dessert either. Hands off, bucko!
I never really understood this holiday. There’s something with Julius Caesar, the Romans and bloodshed. Then there’s the myth about a pudgy, flying baby in a diaper that somehow learned how to shoot arrows on point (slightly terrifying, if you ask me). Oh, and some guy named Valentine who literally lost his head and a naked lady who rode through town on a horse who inspired fancy chocolates. And when it comes down to Valentine’s Day, let’s face it. It’s not all about love. I hold love in my heart everyday. I don’t need some holiday that the Romans made up so February wouldn’t suck so much to tell me to push love. But it’s not everyday I get a damn good excuse to eat all the chocolate I want! And chocolate is something I understand very well. Thanks, naked lady.
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