When I deplaned the other evening (What day is it?) I only wanted to see my husband. I'm not a big fan of these contrived little holidays where we are all supposed to drum up some romance on cue. While I've been lying in bed feeling loved and pampered I've been thinking about...well, love.
Here's what the real deal looks like:
Your woman gets off an international flight looking like a refugee (truth be told probably smelling like one too not having showered in a number of days too embarrassing to mention) and you treat her like she's the best thing you've ever seen.
She has a raging fever and cold chills and you wrap your entire body around her and hold on tight until it stops and she can sleep.
Endless patience for endless requests.
Any man can talk a good game, come through with the occasional appropriate gift, and tell you you look great when you are already pretty sure yourself that you do. But there's that whole other side of life. So...
Perfume? I mean we won't turn it down.
Flowers? Bring 'em on.
Chocolate? Currently makes me gag, but you know normally...sure.
But by comparison to being taken care of when you can't really take care of yourself...they pale to the color of my face right now.
There. My one sappy sentimental post for the year. We will soon return to our regularly scheduled snarky programming.