Happy Valentine's Day

(Or the alternate title of this blog – HOW MANY BACK RUBS WILL IT TAKE TO REMOVE THE BUS TRACKS FROM MY HUSBAND’S BACK…)

Okay – before I jet off in search of the perfect Valentine’s Day card which he finds and I never do (lovey-dovey-nice; smart-ass-expected), I offer my thoughts on the silly season of love…

So.  I once heard an acquaintance relate the following story at Wednesday bowling after Valentines Day.

           

She: “HE (meaning husband) won’t EVER buy me an appliance for any holiday ever again after our little “chat” last week!” (lifting wrist to show new tennis bracelet)

Chorus of other women present, heads nodding:  “You go, girl!  Right on! Amen, sister!”

And I remember thinking - Damn! If I said that, I wouldn’t get nuthin at all!

Yes.  I married an Engineer.

Engineers are like the 3^rd round draft pick in the gene pool.  Solid.  Dependable.  Not too flashy.  Great fathers.  Good providers.  They’re like the Schnauzers – cute, but not too cute; fiercely loyal and independent.  Their haircuts mean they don’t shed.  And oh, can they fix stuff; like a knife sharpener purchased for under $10 dollars 23 years ago; because hey, who would want to buy a new one when, with a little duct tape and some paper clips, the fixed one will last at least another week or so?!

Well, maybe I am being a bit harsh.  I’ve gotten flowers on the Day o’ Love before.  Just, you know, not every year.  And jewelry, which I’ve received a few times, is ‘so expected’ or so I’m told.  As I said, Rob always finds the perfect greeting card and is good for a beer and a shared Buffalo Chicken Salad at Putters. 

He insists that because he doesn’t lavish me with gifts every year, it makes the times he does just that more special.  I’m pretty sure that this statement is also Newton’s Third Principle of Diminishing Returns or some other engineering credo.  An engineer’s pocket protector might come out of an engineer’s shirt each night, but the mind set goes with him permanently. 

Okay.  True confessions.  Do I secretly long for a jeweled surprise in a purple Yelton’s box?  Or how about an arm full of yellow roses, too many to count?  Or maybe that he’ll whisk me away on a weekend trip that he planned?  Oh yea.  Seriously, do I hope that he will someday drop to one knee to serenade me in song and Josh Groban’s voice will issue forth?  Yea, baby, YEA!

Will I like my new knife sharpener and use it often?  Sigh.  Of course, I will.

So to all you ladies whose Valentine’s Day gifts will come in boxes stamped “Rival”, “KitchenAid” and “Presto”; to all those readers who have loved and ever been loved; I offer this classic expression of love, better than Hallmark, and etched on an engineer’s heart and in his actions (but would never pass his lips because it’s you know, poetry): 

How Do I Love Thee? by Elizabeth Barrett Browning How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of everyday's Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight. I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life!--and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.