After work yesterday we parked at the grocery store and went in. It was time to do Valentines Day. This is a day that Joe and I used to call “Heterosexual Pride Day” as we watched commercial after commercial about men and women and love and adoration. “Nothing says love like a diamond,” we were told in dulcet tones and I would quip, “well, nothing except a day treated with respect.” Our love, then hidden, chafed at the manacles that chained us to the closet.
Over time, we just came to ignore it.
If I am found dead one February 14th with a Valentines Card in my hand, lock Joe up for murder because surely he knew the shock would kill me. We don’t do Valentines.
At least, until Ruby and Sadie came into our lives. We were transformed into pinks and purples and princesses, oh my god the princesses, and, of course, Valentines Day. They love it! The cards the chocolate the whole messy thing, they anticipate it and explode with Valentines excitement. There are some forces where resistance is futile and a child’s expectant face is one of them.
So, we went shopping for a card and a gift. We decided to forgo the chocolate this year and instead bought them each a mango, it’s healthy, it’s sweet and they like them. We got one for their mother too, what the heck once you start Valentineing it’s hard to stop. We picked up cards, ones that weren’t creepy when given by old men who are relatives – which were hard to find. But we managed.
Then we were off to drop the whole mess off at their home and to wish them all a happy Valentines Day. We got there just after the bus arrived and when they saw us in the driveway they literally jumped with excitement to see us. They hadn’t known we were coming. That was their gift to us. And the cards were handed over, okay one red wrapped chocolate in each card, along with the wrapped up bag of mangoes.
We drove away tired.
I was just about to say “Happy Valentines” to Joe when he said, “Don’t, I’m driving, you trying to kill us?!”