Actually, I come from Worcester County, which happens to be the home of the first Valentine. I think I should be demanding preferential Valentine treatment. And I would, if I thought it would do any good.
In grade school we used to exchange cute little cartoon Valentines. Do they still do that or is it considered sexual harassment? I used to be in love with a kid named Stephen Sweet, and man was he sweet! Of course he loved Phyllis what’s her name, and not me. But each year I would savor the fleeting intimacy between Stephen and I as he placed a tiny white envelope on my desk….” I was always hoping for this:
But I got this instead:
So you see, my Valentine expectations were lowered long ago, and since then I've learned to lower them even more still.
I no longer hope for roses, perfume, romantic dinners, and expensive chocolates, but make due with, yard trimmings, deoderant, Marie Calendar’s in-home menu, and thanks to my new cardiac diet, red Jello.
I’ve come to believe that Cupid has a nasty side, sparking inappropriate relationships for hundreds of years, getting our sappy little hopes up, only to have love blow up in our faces or go as flat as a couch potato’s ass.
Cupid doesn’t mention that love has stinky feet, hogs the blankets, burps louder than a marching band, and thinks that a night out is putting on a clean shirt and eating dinner in front of the TV.
So, I finally get it. If this girl wants a memorable Valentine’s Day she’s got to create it for herself. No more waiting for hubby to sweep me off my feet (or to sweep the front porch for that matter). I’m taking this holiday into my own capable hands!
Ha! Cupid must think I’m stupid!
