Moolah & Smooches

The flowers and candy passed around this time of year are nice, but I'm still not buying into the V-day hype. Why should some obscure day in the middle of February be touted as the most romantic day of the year? Why , today, are men and women alike willing to drop a couple hundred bucks doing something special for their other half, when any other day of the year they'd sniff that it's too expensive, or takes too much time.

Why, for so many people, is a "good" Valentine's day associated with the price tag attached to it?

I remember last year's elaborate plans gone awry. I remember how mortified L was that things didn't work out, and how concentrated he was on doing something nice for me, because I'd had such a rough time the months before that. I also look back at the plastic poppy on the chipped laminate table, the hot, steaming buffet line stuffed full of chinese food, and remember it as the best Valentine's day I'd ever had.

The Waiter, from waiterrant.com commented on the vicious weather we're having in this part of the country:

"The horrible weather the Northeast and Midwest experienced today meant many couples stayed home and had candlelight dinners– and that’s because they’re snowbound and without power! I’m sure nine months from now the maternity wards will be hopping."

Gets me thinkin about how many sideline markets could jump on the Free Love bandwagon. Why should florists, chocolatiers, French restaurants and Hallmark get all the dough? Think of it:

Pet stores: They could start selling fish to empty-headed up-and-coming yuppies trying to Woo that girl from accounting into a white picket fence. How sweet! And after the wedding, as the husband flushed the bloated, floating fish body down the john, nobody would mention that the fish survived longer than their love did.

Cel phones: little pink and red mini-phones that only work for a 24 hour period. Instead of ringing, they would erupt with annoying little pull-cord voices asking, "Will you be mine?" and proclaiming "I love you!" Usage would run $14 per minute. The cost of the phone? $140. How romantic.

Credit Cards: The Valentine Visa! It would come with cute little haulographic hearts all over the front of it, which you could special order in 14 different designs (additional fees apply, of course).

Now if I can just figure out how to market a Valentine's Day car....

Sweethearts

"I'd like to cook you dinner on Valentine's day," he said.

"Um, Pea? You don't cook." I smiled. He cringed.

"All the same, I'd like to make you dinner."

"We'll see." That was three days ago.

Last night, I stayed up late baking a beautiful four-layer chocolate/strawberry cake with pink frosting. This week, two of the gals at work had birthdays, and somehow I've been nominated as the official birthday-cake maker. The idea was to swirl white frosting around the base and stick little conversation hearts in it. Gravity, apparently, had other plans.

Did you know that if you forgot to frost the cake to the stand, then tip it at a 45 degree angle to frost the side, the cake will slip off the stand and onto the countertop? Did you know that said cake will also bounce, breaking in half, and that the spongier half will careen to the floor and land on your foot, decorating it in lovely black and pink cakey crumbles? Did you know that cats like pink vanilla frosting?

These are the things I discovered.

I got over it, of course. Eating nearly the entire portion that could be salvaged from the countertop helped.

Fast forward to the following morning, after I finally came down from the sugar high and got to bed. I got a call from the downstairs security desk. "Ma'am, you have a delivery down here."

No one had mentioned sending me flowers, but my dad had called that morning to wish me a happy Valentine's day, so I thought maybe they were from him. He does that sometimes.

Instead, Pea was standing in the lobby in full winter garb, carrying a sack of books and puzzles, and a fistfull of daisies. The books, of course, were naughty, and the flowers were gorgeous.

Despite the sudden joy of my special delivery, I spent the remainder of the afternoon periodically hugging the toilet in the ladies' room. Nerves, I'm sure, but it certainly didn't make the experience any more pleasant.

Tonight, Pea and I took it easy. We decided to forgo the fancy restaurants or an elaborate dinner at home, and opted instead for fast food burgers and fries in bed, watching a DVD on my laptop. Nothing fancy, but it was exactly what I wanted.

The calm of today helped alleviate some of the trepidation associated with tomorrow. Wish me luck?

To every thing there is a season...

"Ten minutes!" a dippy blonde cried. Black mascara was smudged under her eyes as she swayed on unsteady feet, trying to take a drink from her bottle of beer and not dump it down her shirtfront. Ashes from the end of her forgotten cigarette floated from her hand to the floor.

Ten minutes, and a new year. A fresh start? Not for me. Ten minutes before I got to dive right back in. I sat on the sofa, wondering what I was doing there. What had driven me out of my house at 11pm on New Year's Eve, when I didn't at all feel like being around people.

I wondered where M was, and what he was doing. He'd graciously allowed me to beg off on the Tennessee trip. I didn't have it in me to be bright and shiney.

"You okay?" Pea asked me, his brows knitted in concern. I've been seeing Pea for a few months now. He's quiet, and thoughtful, and mindful of my space. He knew I wasn't in the mood for people, but I didn't want to be alone, either.

"Yeah, sweetie. I'm okay." I leaned over and kissed his cheek. He sighed and laced his fingers through mine. We sat on the couch in silence while the rest of the party danced around counting the seconds to midnight.

The ball on the television reached it's final destination. The party cried simulntaneously, "Happy New Year!" Somebody blew a horn. Somebody else spilled their champagne.

Pea looked at me furtively, a small smile playing across his lips. "Happy New Year, Mouth."

"Happy New Year, Pea." We kissed briefly, dryly.

I lost myself over the next few hours in contemplation. I don't know what the next year will bring, only that it won't be like anything I've yet experienced. Life is changing for me at an alarming pace. I feel like I'm on a speeding train, heading towards a tunnel. I have no idea where I'm going, and there isn't any way to see from where I am. I guess I'll just have to try to be patient, and wait to see where this ride takes me.

Tryptophan... mmmm!

You'd better watch out! You'd better not cry! You'd better not pout! I'm tellin you why - Mister M is comin' to town.... along with 20 or so of my family and their friends.

As we gathered around the table(s) to celebrate a few thousand buckle-shoed pilgrims living in wood huts way back when, I smiled at M over a deliciously fattening plateful of everyone's favorite holiday foods. he flew up to spend the weekend with my family and me, and what a brave soul he was! He handled my psychotic sister deftly, withstood my abrasive aunt's sarcasm, and made my mother melt with his culinary skills. Who could ask for a more perfect introduction to the family? I knew he was in like flint when mother asked him to make the gravy - she won't even let me in her kitchen.

The kicker, though, was when they giggled conspiritorily together around the stove.

Mother: "You know, you're welcome back any time."

M: "Madam, don't you think we ought to, at the very least, invite Mo out for dinner during my visit? It's really the least we could do."

Mother: "What for?"

Are mothers allowed to like the people we bring home with us more than they like their own children? Isn't there a law against that somewhere?