Jason and I are not romantic types. (Maybe he thinks he is, but I have never come home to a bedroom full of rose petals, a candlelit dinner for two, and Isaac Hayes crooning in the background, so in my book, he’s not.) I am the typical farmer’s daughter and think that Valentine’s Day is the perfect time to refresh the poison in the shed to kill any wayward mice that might have the audacity to seek shelter from the freezing cold in there. So you can imagine my surprise when Jason told me he thought we should do something nice on Valentine’s Day.
He let on that he was planning on getting me a gift, which threw me in to a panic. I currently am not allowed to drive and I hate to impose on my carpool buddy, who has already been chauffeuring me around for three weeks above and beyond the call of friendship. How was I going to get a gift?
I decided to shred his old ties that I hate and glue them in to a pretty mosaic portrait of Quentin Tarantino, Jason’s favorite director. I waited until he had to leave the house to cover a town council meeting and got to shredding and gluing. Apparently, I had completely forgotten that I had gotten a ‘D’ in shredding and gluing in kindergarten, because the end result looked nothing like Quentin Tarantino and everything like a giant three-dimensional hairball. Kind of smelled like one, too. Frustrated, I decided to wrap it up anyway and tell him it was from the cats. @!$!! Valentine’s Day!
I had no card, either, but having excelled at crayon work in my preschool days, I felt confident I could come up with something nice. I colored a bunch of hearts on construction paper and wrote a poem:
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I love you more than Seinfeld
No soup for you!
Okay, poetry has never been my strong point, but at least the card was done.
Valentine’s Day arrived and Jason was in full romantic mode. He started the day by bringing me a cup of coffee, which, in my world, is just as romantic as a dozen roses, especially when I can’t get it for myself these days. We watched reruns of Forensic Files together, which is my favorite show. What a sweet guy! He gave me my gift (Holstein-patterned galoshes) and made me dinner, a plateful of scrambled eggs. (He’s working on expanding his culinary skills.) He was protectively apologetic when he opened my gift to him (“Don’t look, honey! The cats ate the gift you made me and threw it back up. I’m so sorry!”) All in all, it was a very dreamy sort of day.
Hey, I warned you. We’re not romantics. But we make it work.
He let on that he was planning on getting me a gift, which threw me in to a panic. I currently am not allowed to drive and I hate to impose on my carpool buddy, who has already been chauffeuring me around for three weeks above and beyond the call of friendship. How was I going to get a gift?
I decided to shred his old ties that I hate and glue them in to a pretty mosaic portrait of Quentin Tarantino, Jason’s favorite director. I waited until he had to leave the house to cover a town council meeting and got to shredding and gluing. Apparently, I had completely forgotten that I had gotten a ‘D’ in shredding and gluing in kindergarten, because the end result looked nothing like Quentin Tarantino and everything like a giant three-dimensional hairball. Kind of smelled like one, too. Frustrated, I decided to wrap it up anyway and tell him it was from the cats. @!$!! Valentine’s Day!
I had no card, either, but having excelled at crayon work in my preschool days, I felt confident I could come up with something nice. I colored a bunch of hearts on construction paper and wrote a poem:
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I love you more than Seinfeld
No soup for you!
Okay, poetry has never been my strong point, but at least the card was done.
Valentine’s Day arrived and Jason was in full romantic mode. He started the day by bringing me a cup of coffee, which, in my world, is just as romantic as a dozen roses, especially when I can’t get it for myself these days. We watched reruns of Forensic Files together, which is my favorite show. What a sweet guy! He gave me my gift (Holstein-patterned galoshes) and made me dinner, a plateful of scrambled eggs. (He’s working on expanding his culinary skills.) He was protectively apologetic when he opened my gift to him (“Don’t look, honey! The cats ate the gift you made me and threw it back up. I’m so sorry!”) All in all, it was a very dreamy sort of day.
Hey, I warned you. We’re not romantics. But we make it work.
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