The upside to the rainiest summer in my memory: the lawn and garden are more lush than ever before. My wife’s tireless gardening and newly cultivated photographic eye have made for some vivid scenery around these parts. I’m not sure why I never posted this before–but ain’t it pretty?
Beginning with full disclosure: historically speaking, I’ve always failed at this one–at least, that’s the attitude I take into it. Some guys are angling for surprise, acrobatic sexual compensation for their Valentine’s triumphs, but I’m just holding my breath and hoping for an indifferent shrug, or anything that is not patently disappointed. How many Valentines minds have I blown in my lifetime? Exactly none. None minds. I am fortunate, however –my wife likes flowers a lot, so I can’t really go wrong there, and despite all rhyme and reason she likes me, so flowers and a night out generally suffices–but I still crave that sudden moment of Valentine’s Day inspiration that would leave her shell-shocked, possibly struggling to remember to breathe and, should dreams really come true, in a partial state of undress. I keep wracking my brain, but I get nuthin.
I’m not counting my chickens before my eggs hatch, nor counting eggs before the chickens even lay them, but there is hope. CBS News did a poll that provides some insight into making at least a “satisfactory” gesture this year.
What am I up to this year? Since my wife has been know to scroll around here, I’d better not say. One thing I’ll assure you: it’s not lingerie, which came in just above “flu shot” at 8%, although I think CBS got it wrong with the lingerie thing: lingerie isn’t for the ladies. They may be the ones who wear it, but that stuff is for us. There’s a chance you could pull this off if you’re, say, under 25 and your girl favors anal floss g-strings, but don’t trying bringing garters and hose home to the Mrs. She won’t appreciate it. Better to do some housework–something really obvious–and stop by the candy store, or “chocolaterie” if you must. Hell, a shell pack of mexican strawberries and a can of Hershey’s syrup gives you a better chance than Frederick’s. Unless your girl is a prostitute–and even then, what she really wants is probably a night off, and maybe Richard Gere--not some self-serving synthetic silk underwear from a transparent plotter like you. Don’t get me wrong–there may be a time and a place, some cold boring night in January, maybe–it’s just not Valentine’s Day.