It’s never too soon to start planning for Valentine’s Day, and if you’re waking up without a smile on your face this morning, you might want to consider why.
Now, my Valentine’s was postponed, so none of this applies to me just yet. And instead of worrying about finding a table at a restaurant or anything else, while I was in the city last night my greatest stress was trying to find parking at Chinook Mall because – thanks to Roger Rhodes – there was a stampede as people ran in fear to pick up that one forgotten item… A card.
You see, Roger hosts The Rhodes Show in the afternoon on Country 105. Ah, there’s nothing quite like starting your morning with The Odd Squad, spending the bulk of the work day with Scott Philips and winding things up with Roger Rhodes. In fact, when I wrote Suspicious Circumstances I always had Country 105 on.
But I digress. You see, Roger was talking about how, for his wife, a card is an absolute must. He can make a candlelight dinner, send their daughter to the grandparents for the night… but if there’s no card…
So Roger was trying to understand this, and meanwhile every single person in Calgary who hadn’t bought a card was freaking out and ran to Chinook Mall to the Shoppers Drug Mart to get one, and one person was suffocated in the stampede…
Now, I didn’t get a card yesterday. Not a paper card. I did get an e-card, and unfortunately my web browser was being flakey, so while I was on the phone with Bunny I was having a laugh over the fact he’d sent me an empty box. Truly, I was amused, and eventually got the card up.
A paper card, though? That’s not something that’s going to malfunction. It won’t get lost in cyberspace as it takes the scenic tour to your loved one’s computer and picks up a bug in Singapore.
Why does the card matter so much to some people? I could soap box on communication theory, but it’s simple. Roger, the $46,000 you spent on dinner is just gone now. And within hours, there won’t be anything left of dinner either. The llama in the back yard that you dyed pink? It needs to be fed, poop needs to be scooped, and some day it will die.
A card is permanent, forever. It can be kept in a desk drawer, a little momento, a reminder of a special event, of a happy moment. Some people are a wee bit sentimental that way. I know I’ve accumulated all these knick-knacks, all these things that take me right to a place in time and bring back the memories.
And along with the memories come the emotions. Your spouse finds that memorable item and it brings a smile to their face as they think about how you arranged for an empty house, spent $46,000 making a candlelight dinner, dyed a llama pink and put it in the back yard, and bought her a card, and good chance you’re going to experience some of those residual benefits.
I mean, guys, here’s a tip: You’re always working toward the next time. How many of you can relate to moving a little closer, going in for a kiss and hearing some variation of I know it’s Saturday but on Monday you were inconsiderate and I’m just not happy with you right now? You know it’s true. The reason they say there’s no such thing as a woman scorned (well, other than a DJ scorned, as Roger proved earlier this week) is because when it comes to relationships most women have loooooooooong memories.
Now, I’m not much of a card person. But I do have ones here that have been given to me over the years. I wouldn’t want to get a card every week. Even every month. But when it’s not a common thing, it is special. And unlike e-mails that can be lost in a computer crash, or the text messages we’ve had to delete from our phones, you can keep that card, tack it to a bulletin board, put it in a photo album, keep it in the desk drawer…
Trust me, I’d rather have that card, but thanks to that woman who phoned in yesterday I bet the people at HallMark are already working on custom card suits.
I mean, if Bunny is going to wear something special on Valentine’s Day I want it to be wrapping paper, if you get what I’m saying. Forget that card costume, all you get to do is read that!
And while I wouldn’t limit romance to this one gesture, closing the tailgate of the truck when you’re being intimate is a good move.
For those of you who are a wee bit bitter this morning, courtesy of The Odd Squad this morning I was made aware of Relationship Obit, where you can go to put the nail in the coffin, or in some cases, drive the stake through the heart of the one you’re kicking to the curb.
For those of you who are brave, care to share your best and worst Valentine’s memories? Since I know who all my readers are if you don’t share I’ll know you’re a chicken. ;)
One thing I learned? To never dedicate Little Bitty to the man you love. He'll never get past the title.
Once I finally managed to get into the mall I found the new Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, with a new story by Russel D. McLean - the whole reason to buy it.
And then, on a display table, I found Burial Ground - John's latest book. So it was worth it to drop by Chapters last night, even if it took half my life to get a parking spot.
What takes three hours to warm up and cools off in a minute?
(Courtesy of the man who called the radio yesterday)
Did you hear about the man who crossed the widest desert, who climbed the highest mountain and swam the biggest ocean for the woman he loved?
She divorced him. He was never home.
And getting off the lovey stuff, thanks to Norby
As a trucker stops for a red light, a blonde catches up. She jumps out of her car, runs up to his truck, and knocks on the door.
The trucker lowers the window, and she says "Hi, my name is Heather and you are losing some of your load."
The trucker ignores her and proceeds down the street. When the truck stops for another red light, the girl catches up again. She jumps out of her car, runs up and knocks on the door.
Again, the trucker lowers the window. As if they've never spoken, the blonde says brightly, "Hi my name is Heather, and you are losing some of your load!"
Shaking his head, the trucker ignores her again and continues down the street.
At the third red light, the same thing happens again.
All out of breath, the blonde gets out of her car, runs up, knocks on the truck door. The trucker rolls down the window. Again she says "Hi, my name is Heather, and you are losing some of your load!"
When the light turns green the trucker revs up and races to the next light.
When he stops this time, he hurriedly gets out of the truck, and runs back to the blonde.
He knocks on her window, and after she lowers it, he says...
"Hi, my name is Kevin, it's winter in Pittsburgh and I'm driving the SALT TRUCK!"
And if you need your fix of Valentine’s stories and didn’t get it yesterday, Patti has the links to all those Bloody Valentine’s tales.