My husband and I aren’t big Valentine’s Day people. We do little stuff for our kids, but as for each other, we really don’t bother. Why? Because around here, every day is a celebration of our love and commitment to each other!
I’ll let you in on a few of our secrets…
Roses? I prefer being greeted with a dozen of half-empty water bottles by his side of the bed. And if I am really lucky, Lance Romance also leaves rolled up socks, coins, little folded up pieces of paper and occasionally his wedding band. (Apparently, he dreams of being single because he can’t sleep with his ring on. Or take a dump, but I am not exactly sure what the hidden meaning is of that. Either way, the ring is always lost and now he has a spare from Walmart. If he also loses that one, at least he will have a green circle around his finger.)
Sex Panther cologne? No way. Nothing gets me in the mood more than the scent of three-day-old gym clothes covered in man sweat fermenting in a plastic bag.
Love notes or sappy cards? No thank you. On a regular basis, my fella leaves sweet messages for me in a dirty bowl, caked with spaghetti sauce left in the sink overnight after I loaded the dishwasher.
Okay, I know that I am extremely spoiled, but I do put 110% into our marriage as well.
For instance, I have developed super-cute, nonverbal cues to express my true feelings. My secret language is so sacred, that he is the only person on earth who is the daily recipient of my messages. It includes endearing eye rolls, sighs, stomping and an occasional grabbing of the chest while I take a deep breath. (Think of a ladylike version of Fred Sanford’s, “I’m coming to join you, Elizabeth!”)
I also thoughtfully hide all the sweets and treats in the house to help him stay on his diet. Unfortunately, this strategy backfired when his midnight snack was a giant Kit Kat bar reserved for a teacher’s Valentine.
To really get the motor running, I slip into my slinkiest XL, pitted-out t-shirt that says “I Hate Math,” giant cotton pajama pants (cropped, which is figure-flattering) and fuzzy green socks. I make a big production to kick off the socks in the middle of the night while I am sweating. I mean glowing. Rumor has it that I now snore since I’ve become a little fluffier.
But truth be told, we do still find each other mildly amusing and over the past 15 years of marriage, we have lived our wedding vows to the fullest. Especially the “for richer or poorer” and “in sickness and in health” parts.
Recently, I asked him a favor. If he were to ever become interested in anyone else, can he just come clean and skip part with all the lies and sneaking around.
“You know I could never do that,” he immediately answered. “Because…
My ears perked up, waiting to hear: you are the love of my life. You are my soul mate. You are the best thing that ever happened to me.
You are the straw that stirs the drink.
The amazing mother of my children. My better half. The real deal. The total package. I couldn’t live without you.
You Complete Me.
Drum roll, please: “I’m too friggin’ tired all the time.”
Oh well, I’ll take what I can get!