We decided to postpone Valentine's Day this year. I'm working nights this week, and conflicting waking hours between spouses is not conducive to romance. Neither are barnacles. I'm just thinking outside the box here.
So our Valentine's Day will be in March. No one else will even know it. They'll watch our kids for us, unaware we're stealing away for a Valentine's lunch at a romantic steakhouse. Maybe we ought to do that every year. What's so great about sharing a dimly-lit dining area on Valentine's Day with hundreds of other disgusting couples, all whispering hackneyed nothings in one another's ears, anyway? I want to be the only disgusting couple in the restaurant whispering hackneyed nothings amidst the hollow lunchtime bustle of overpaid, power-suited analysts and brokers cutting desolate deals and organizing bland meetings into their unfeeling cell phones on their rushed and lonely little lunch breaks. It makes me feel good about myself.
Actually we'll probably just take the kids with us and go eat Subway. It's one of the few things that doesn't make