Romance? What's That?

Stephen and I have never done much in the past to celebrate Valentine's Day. I don't know, there's something so false about the holiday - don't get me wrong, I love getting presents and going out to dinner and all that, but it's really never been a big deal to me. For some strange reason, Stephen has always been okay with me being low maintenance on V-Day. Hm. Even with that being said, we hit an all time low this year in celebrating the day.

We ate sloppy joes and french fries for dinner. I ate in the pajamas I was still wearing from the night before. No make up, hair unkempt (how else?) - I'm not even sure I'd brushed my teeth. I did, however, take a shower before I went to bed. I just didn't think it'd be fair for Stephen to have to go to bed with a stinky wife on Valentine's Day. Not that we'd be doing anything in bed, anyway, but still.

It was all good, though; Asher Bug was more than enough of a reminder of our love for each other. A very poopy, squawking, exhausting reminder. He actually was a very sweet baby yesterday, spending the majority of the day napping and, when awake, was in a fairly good mood. I took the below picture of him after our morning nap together. This was when I told him he could be my Valentine this year, because he sure knows the way to my heart. Sleep. That was the best gift ever. The two massive poopy diapers he gave me later that evening were just icing on the cake.

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My Funny Valentine

This is my Valentine's Day gift from Laurie. I about peed my pants from laughter when she gave it to me. If you are a Simpsons fan, you may recall the episode when one of my favorite characters of all time, Ralph Wiggum, gives this valentine to Lisa and says something like, "I choo choo choose you! Get it? It's a picture of a train!" Seriously, there are very few things funnier than that. Also, we sometimes call our cat, Charlie, "Choo Choo" (Charlie=Char Char=Choo Choo) and I'll carry him around saying, I choo choo choose you, Choo Choo, I choo choo choose you!

Laurie is the best.

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My Husband, the Romantic

Stephen gave my Valentine's Day gift to me a week early. This isn't uncommon; when it comes to gift-giving, he's like a little kid and can't wait until the appropriate day. Normally, I find this endearing, but...

Last Tuesday, we had a snowstorm that wasn't as bad as yesterday's, but it was snowing heavy enough to make driving conditions pretty awful and prompted my boss to send us home 2 1/2 hours early. Stephen picked me up from work, and we decided to stop by Kroger on the way home to return a movie we had rented from the nifty $1 rental machine we recently discovered. Pulling into the little shopping center's parking lot, we were appalled that there had been virtually no plowing done. Between knowing our luck and the crappy condition of the lot, you'd think we wouldn't have been surprised when we ran completely over a cement parking lot divider slab thingy. Nope, it still managed to scare me enough to cause me to duck and then frantically search the rearview mirrors for the bloody remains of the midget or dog I was positive we had just run over. Either there were no bloody remains, or it was just snowing so freakin' hard that it masked the evidence from my eyes, but either way I was relieved.

As always, relief is only temporary, and moments later Stephen's bout of rage began when he concluded he had demolished his tire. We pulled into a "space" and got out to find a perfectly flat tire with its sidewall blown out. Our Hyundai has a lovely 60 month roadside assistance feature, where they'll bring you gas if you run out, tow your car for free, change your flate tire, etc. Unfortunately, it was going to take three hours for someone to get to us to change our tire. Did I mention we were only about a mile from our house? It seemed silly, to me, to sit there, a mile away from home, waiting in the car for three hours for someone to change the flat tire. Granted, I'm a girl, and if I'd been alone and had no one else to call, I sure as hell would have waited that three hours for flat tire assistance. Not because I'm lazy, though I totally am, but because I'd have absolutely no idea how on earth to change a flat. I know the spare tire is usually kept in the trunk, and I know you have to jack the car up before changing it, but that's about as far as my knowledge goes. But anyway, since my husband is, duh, a boy, why couldn't he just change it himself? Easy peasey, I thought!

We had no shovel with us because, well, who keeps a shovel in their car? I came up with the brilliant idea to use the ice scraper/snow brush to clear off the area around the car and the tire. This is when the F-bombs started flying out of the mouth of my sweet, sweet husband.

"What the f**k do you think you're doing?! Get your f**kin' ass back in the f**kin' car!"

It's okay, sweetie, look, it's working!

"I said to get your ass back in the car! Damnit! F**K!!!" (Jumps out of the car and slams the car door.) "F**KER!" (Did I mention we were in the Kroger parking lot? Could this explain why not one of the dozens of cars that drove by us stopped to offer assistance?)

*blink, blink* Did you just call me a f**ker?

"NO, I didn't call YOU a f**ker! I hate my f**king job! I hate this f**king car! I hate carting all this f**king sh*t around in my f**king car I f**king hate for the f**king job I f**king hate!!"

Sweetie, let me help. Just tell me what to do. I know I can't do much between the several inches of snow on the ground and the HEELS I'm wearing, but let me do something. Can I help clean out your trunk so we can get to the tire?

"HERE," thrusting a few things into my arms, including a tissue-wrapped package. "AND HAPPY F**KIN' VALENTINE'S DAY!"

I just want you to know, anything you say at this moment, I'm completely disregarding because of the situation. (And because I noticed the Coach tissue paper surrounding the package. Call me a f**ker again, I don't care. As long as I get a f**kin' purse out of the f**kin' deal, I could care less.)

So, although celebrated early, I had a memorable Valentine's Day. I got a fabulous brown leather Coach purse to add to my collection, a tire changed by my ever-so-manly man, and a new nickname. (F**ker, in case you forgot. I haven't.) I just wish he'd said those heartfelt words in a card so I could cherish them forever:

HAPPY F**KIN' VALENTINE'S DAY, F**KER! Love Always, Stephen

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