Thursday, February 15, 2007

So, we're not doing anything, right?

We were sitting at dinner on the last night of our vacation having one of those "only on vacation" kind of dinners that include a lot of wine, dessert even though we're full and inappropriate conversation about the people around us.

Around the time we start contemplating the many methods by which one can stifle a child's mind-numbing screams, we touch on the topic of Valentine's Day, the eyebrow raisingest holiday of them all. Quickly we dismiss it by agreeing that we "weren't doing anything." And then call the meal sitting in front of us "Our Valentine's Dinner", so that we can go back to making fun of the drunken louts sitting behind us who are trying to be all fancy with their wine choosing. Perfection.

At this point, the holiday starts to conspire against our non-plans by sending us subversive signals and basically just stalking us.
  • We get home from vacation and find Valentines from both our moms in the mailbox
  • One of which included a gift card to See's for a 1 lb box of chocolate
  • Wine club called to tell us our February bottles were ready for pick up
  • I ordered something random for Bubba a few weeks ago and it showed up while we were on vacay
Bubba, obviously confused by all these mixed signals, asks me all plain faced if we were, indeed, still "not doing anything" for VD (it has taken on a less appealing acronym in our house). You know, even though we have a big box of chocolate, two bottles of wine, pink hearty cards and a big red box sitting on our dining room table.

Of course I say, "No Bubba, don't worry. No plans." And I mean it.

But then the morning of said hated holiday rolls around and I tell him I am making tacos for dinner. To which he replies, "Valen-tacos?" in a lewd and suggestive tone that convinces me to make this small change of plans thinking that our holiday requirements are paid in full now and I was free to then go on with my day.

I spend a proud part of my morning telling people that we are "doing nothing" for Valentine's Day as though it is perfectly fine with me (which it is). Although I do tell at least one person that I am making Valen-tacos for dinner, to which I did not recieve the same childish giggles in return so I think it must have been the way I said it.

Feeling all proud of us for not falling prey to the Satan of All Holidays, I go back to work, trying to catch up from my week off.

Then 4pm rolls around.

(via AIM)
Bubba: Have you gotten anything yet?
Me: Uh, some cake from the party (there was a work party )
Bubba: Not what I had in mind.
Me: Then, no.
Bubba: DAMNIT *&*^*%&%^%
Me: Hmmm...

5pm a big bouquet of flowers arrive. (Squeeeeeee!)

But still, we're not "doing anything" for VD so I'm not going to get all giddy like a fucking psychopath. I am wearing black. I am aloof. I am arranging my flowers in their upgraded vase as though they arrive daily and I can simply admire their beauty without secretly wishing that they last forever and the cleaning lady never (finally) throws them away because they've turned brown and nasty from being admired on my desk for three weeks.

I hug my flowers good-bye and drive home, pausing only briefly to call Bubba and ask him to pick up a few things for the Valen-tacos.

Apparently, as he was going about his innocent way at the store, comparing the merits of taco shells and refried beans, IT got him, too. I find this out as I'm going to set the table (read: get a lot of napkins piled up on the coffee table for the moment when I inevitably spill dinner everywhere) and find a big red envelope with my nickname scrawled in Bubba-hand. It's all cute with a funny joke inside. There's pot-bellied dinosaurs on the front. I laugh (snort) and say, "Rowr!" with the normal intensity.

But then I realize...

IT's everywhere! IT's in my racoon wounds! The call, IT's coming from inside the house! You can't escape IT! IT knows where you live! Heegotcha!

So, the moral of the story here is that even if you plan to ignore made up holidays, they will sneak into your house in the form of less objectionable objects like chocolate, flowers, wine, gifts, fancy cards and thematic food.

There's apparently no avoiding it. Your weapons are useless against it. The best thing to do is just quietly give in and get really drunk.

Then, in secret, get all squeaky and excited because you got flowers at work.

Tee hee hee hee


  1. Flowers are great! Demand them weekly!

  2. Aw, how sweet. We were firmly "doing nothing" as well, then the night before we got an email from the girl who's planning our reception and found out that their restaurant was doing a VD dinner--I was like, "wanna go?" "Ok." You're right, it sneaks up on you like that!!


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