Please (don’t) be my valentine
Ah, the memories.
My first experience in elementary school.
Teacher: “You have to put a card in everyone’s box.”
Student(s): “But I don’t want to! She had cooties!” (aka Tourette’s Syndrome).
Popular girl: 300 cards.
Ditto for middle school and high school.
My second experience in college.
My boyfriend (during my freshman and sophomore year) is holding flowers. He says, “I don’t want to be your boyfriend anymore. I like Kay but I’m too scared to tell her. Give her these flowers for me and tell her how I feel.”
My third experience, 2nd marriage
Every year, he remembered. Until he died.
My fourth experience, double dipping
Third marriage was almost over. I received flowers at the office from my soon-to-be-ex…and my boyfriend. That wasn’t taken well by management, and they began to write me up for every little infraction.
My fifth experience, 4th marriage
He was 17 years younger, we were married 4 years and he worked for exactly 3 months between the time he moved in with me (a few months before marriage) and the “I do’s.” During that 3 months, he bought a tattoo with his first paycheck. His grandmother scolded him for his thoughtlessness.
He bought me flowers and cards every year, but had to ask for money from me to do it.
The gift from God (who advised me with the thunder expected of a deity), “This is my final offer. Screw this one up and there’s a special place in Valentine Hell for you.”
No gifts, no cards, no candy? No problem! If I need something, he gets me 10 of the same thing — when I need it and not on a designated day. He’s reliable, mostly predictable, and I knew what I was getting before we said, “I do.”
No pretentiousness, just a generous, in-your-face (and sometimes much-too-honest) genius.
Best Valentine’s day present ever!