My husband is usually at a loss what to do with me on Valentines Day. It’s hard to top his first Valentines gift to me 13 years ago. A beautiful vintage yellow gold engagement ring from the 1940’s. I love my engagement ring. That and my wedding band are pretty much the only jewelry I ever want to wear. Save for the occasional obligatory macaroni necklace. So getting me jewelry for Valentines is out of the question.
As for flowers, I tell him they will only die. And this is a real shame, because his parent’s once owned a flower shop so he knows what he’s doing when he selects flowers. But no good ever comes from getting me something that will only die because I have a hard time throwing anything sentimental away. They would sit on the kitchen counter until around Easter time, and every last petal has given up the ghost and fallen to the floor. While the remainder of the arrangement has succumbed to decomposition and stinks to high heaven.
It isn’t pretty.
I do love silk flowers, and have some gorgeous arrangements from Mother’s Days past, but alas I’ve run out of available table space.
My husband does know the way to my heart. And it isn’t with flowers or beautiful jewels. It’s chocolate. I’m just a simple girl that way. For this Valentine’s Day he brought me my favorite german chocolate cake. It’s the same one he brought me as a love offering the last time he went out of town on business. And the same cake that I ask for by name on each and every birthday. And if you’re doing the math, that’s a lot of German Chocolate Cakes. In fact, it’s the very same german chocolate cake that my mom always made for me when I was small.
And small is the operative word here.
Because if he keeps bringing me German Chocolate cake for special occasions, I’m going to be shopping for new stretchypants. With a good deal of extra stretchy.
I ate a largish piece of cake to celebrate Valentines Day. And afterwards I found myself digging underneath the bathroom counter for a Pepto chaser. Because the old gray mare? She ain’t what she used to be.
And as luck would have it, soon after the doorbell rang, and there on the other side stood my little neighbor Brownie, pulling her red wagon which held a box of Girl Scout Thin Mints with my name on them.
If I’d had good sense I wouldn’t have answered the door. Or at the very least, I would have immediately hid them from myself. But alas I have no good sense. And before I knew it, and entire column of Thin Mints was missing. But in my defense? THE BOXES ARE HALF AS BIG AS BEFORE. WHAT’S UP WITH THAT GIRL SCOUTS OF AMERICA???
I’m thoroughly disgusted with myself, and I’m mentally preparing myself to get reacquainted with the interior of our gym this week.
Frankly, I’m glad that Valentines Day only comes around once a year. It’s not like I’ll have anything to worry about what with Easter coming and LOOK CHOCOLATE EASTER BUNNIES!
Perhaps I should just ask for Will Power by name. JUST SAY NO TO THE CHOCOLATE.
Frankly, this could be the makings for a new reality rehab show. Who’s in with me?
(And btw, in the spirit of full disclosure, before this post was even published, someone found my blog by googling “you’re going to die anyway + chocolate.”)