A week-old letter to my wife on the pinkest holiday of them all.
Dear Sweet Pea,
Happy Valentine’s Day. I know you are a big observer of this holiday, and you’re shackled to a man who likens it to being pitched off a cliff into a field of sandspurs, or worse, having his toenails clipped by a badger.
But, learning to recognize fights I can’t win after 7 years of marriage, I give in and send you Valentine’s Day wishes. All the best. God’s speed. May the wind be at your back and the sun never set. All the typical loving and romantic things Valentine’s cards usually wish.
This isn’t to say I understand the holiday. Oh, to the contrary. I still find it horribly irresponsible, and that’s saying a lot coming from a guy like me. But how, as a society, can we possibly condone giving a bow and arrow to a little baby named Cupid? My brother and I each had a bow and arrow when we were kids, and family members quickly realized how foolish a decision that was when their car tires went flat and we almost pierced a neighbor’s ear by accident one day.
And even worse, we actually allow this little baby archer to run around and shoot people? Uh, hello! Maybe rob from the rich and give to the poor, but don’t be shooting people.
Alas, I won’t discount a holiday because its symbols are a bit violent.
But a little explanation: My dislike of Valentine’s Day probably stems from my days spent at the all-boys Academy of the Holy Names in Tampa. Do you know what it’s like to be a fourth grader required to give out Valentine’s to your schoolhood chums? And Valentine’s cards that read something like: “John, on this day I want to express my dearest love for you. Your secret admirer, Brian.”
Ouch!
But, that aside, I do want to take a moment to impress upon you your importance in my life … for who else is going to make me take out the garbage. Ha ha! A joke. Just kidding.
You see, and you’ve probably noticed this, a guy like me is not so easy to live with. (In fact, a guy like me is lucky to even have a woman who speaks to him.) Sure, it would be easier to get a herd of elephants to do laundry than me. And sure, you can still see the outside world through holes in the walls of our house that I haven’t patched. But the reason I don’t do these things is so I will have more time to devote to loving you. It’s true!
Yes, I know I don’t come off as a romantic guy. But that’s the irony. Deep down, I’m Mr. Romance. I just don’t show it. Deep down, I shower you with kisses, buy you roses until federal law makes me stop and worship the ground you walk on, even if it’s a cow pasture. Granted, that’s only in my imagination and I would never do these things in real life, but doesn’t it feel good just knowing that I want to? You must be swooning right now, so sit down for a moment.
And I guess I don’t show it because society frowns upon it. I blame football. Football and beer commercials. If not for that, I’d be a different man. I’d be the kind of romantic guy every girl dreams about. I would probably grow my hair long, start riding horses without a shirt on and say things like, “Mi Amor, would you like more mashed potatoes with your pork chops?”
Oh, if I only I was that man. (Sigh)
Anyway, just thought I would take the time to express my undying love here on this very special holiday that I can’t appreciate, or stand. May it truly be wonderful, but if I see that little kid with the bow and arrow, I’m calling the cops.
Love,
Brian