I guess yesterday was supposed to be Valentine's Day, better known as the day where we tell our special someone how much we love them by giving them something pink and fattening. The day originated when St. Valentine came down and from the clouds and showed the celibate Romans how to party down with some sappy greeting cards, over-priced chocolates and a Barry White CD. Legend has it that if Valentine's Day happens on a full moon, those crappy chalk-tasting candy hearts will actually cure leprosy.
The Queen and I have a love-ambivalence relationship with the ol' V-Day. While we like the idea of having a spot where we feel compelled to actually say "I love you," we are too cheap to actually do anything on February 14th. Instead we generally wait a week or so after Valentine's Day to celebrate our love because chocolates are 75% off, flowers return to regular price, and we can actually get a reservation at a fancy restaurant. Besides, I'm much more of a Sweetest Day guy. (That's the one in October of September or somewhere around there, right?)
However, this year we decided to up the ante because we have the child. For some reason we thought that if we didn't celebrate Valentine's Day "right," she would grow up to be a heartless, mean old lady who despises love in any form. Without her heart-shaped box of chocolates, she would slip into an endless malaise that triggers a series of events in her adult life:
I'm not sure if I could live with being the catalyst for regicide, so we bought the Princess a video game (Kinect Animals), a mini heart-shaped box of chocolates, and a card. She now LOVES Valentine's Day and the world is safe for another year.
As for the Queen and I, we ended up eating chips and salsa in bed watching Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee and were asleep by 11. Who said romance is dead?
Jack Grubb writes an incredible blog, Losing the Internets, which is read by at least 37 people and over 2,100 Russian SPAM bots. In his spare time he helps small companies find their marketing voice. Jack currently lives deliberately in Appalachia, Kentucky with his wife, two daughters, Jack Russell and a Lego collection beyond compare.