My husband and I are the least romantic people on the face of the planet. (Probably underneath the surface of the planet, too, but who’s being picky?)
It’s Valentine’s Day and we already did what we do every romantic holiday and that is: About two days ago we were watching TV and the Kay Jewelry commercial came on (“Every kiss begins with Kay!”) and we looked up at each other and said in unison, “Oh crap, Valentine’s Day. Can we just not do anything again this year? Fine with me. Oh good.”
We are proof that some people were destined to be together for life. I can never leave him, no matter how much HGTV he watches and he can never leave me, no matter how much I hum and sing in the house and car. It has nothing to do with the sanctity of a Catholic Church marriage, sacred wedding vows, or the three kids we produced. Neither one of us would ever be able to find anyone who would put up with how badly we treat each other on Valentine’s Day, Sweetest Day and our anniversary.
My husband takes some grief for this at work. He stopped telling people that it was our anniversary, because people would ask if he was buying me roses or taking me on a cruise. Two years ago he answered, “No, I’m taking her to Jupiter Medical outpatient to get a humiliating medical procedure done. Why, what do you do for your wife?”
I have to give him credit, though. He has tried to cover those occasions in any way he can. Years ago, when we were thinking - just thinking - about buying a piano, he made a rash, unscheduled decision to buy a beautiful baby grand piano during a piano fact-finding mission that was not in any way supposed to be a piano buying mission. He said it was for me and he was buying it as a gift and that it would take the place of all future birthday, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day and anniversary gifts for me.
“What would you rather get, a sweater and a purse for all those occasions every year or this piano now and then nothing else until you die?” he justified.
The piano salesman, who was reffing this conversation while trying hard not to wet his pants with the knowledge that he was going to sell a piano today!!! said, “I think the piano-right-now idea sounds pretty good.”
So in a pinch, when asked what he bought me for some holiday with a heart around it, my husband can tell people that he got me a piano. Some persistently curious people might think we have a house full of pianos.
Please cut my husband some slack when he goes to work Monday and admits that for Valentine’s Day we replaced the bulbs in the outdoor lights and took the pick-up truck in to be fixed. Or if he tells you he bought me another piano.
All of this non-romantic stuff is fine with me, though. We are just not lovey-dovey gift-givers. And that means we’re perfect for each other. And that’s the most romantic thing of all.
You can send flowers, candy and cruise reservations to Diane Laney Fitzpatrick at firstname.lastname@example.org.
Labels: anniversary gifts, baby grand piano, Sweetest Day, Valentine's Day, wedding anniversary