Am I Really Wearing Shamrocks and a Sombrero on Valentine’s Day?

Ah Valentine’s Day – the day for lovers. A day for romance. A day for hypo-glycemic attacks due to all the ingested chocolates.

No gracias.

I don’t do romance very well (check out last year’s post about it https://am-i-really.com/2012/02/10/am-i-really-this-romance-challenged/ ). Thoughtfulness, yes. Gooey romance, no. I would actually like to go see the opening of A Good Day to Die Hard on this day rather than get a giant teddy bear.  It’s like those smarty candy hearts that say Be Mine or Cutie!  They get stuck in my throat like a wad of chalk. I find the whole running around for a gift too stressful. Can’t we just do nice things for each other without putting a big ass red bow on it?

A recently released book entitled The Norman Bar surveyed over a billion people (or something like that) about relationships. The author and her team of experts discovered that men crave romance more than women.

This I believe.

Not because men are more romantic than women, quite the contrary.  Women would just like everyday sh*t to happen around the house/in their lives because we are TIRED. Let’s face it, chocolates and flowers are nice, but they won’t make up for the moldy boxes of baseball cards hogging up the garage.

If you want to get busy gentlemen, take a looksey at the below list of traditional Valentine’s gifts versus what a chica really wants:

HUSBAND/BOYFRIEND/MR. RIGHT NOW: Wants to be hugged.

LADY: Wants him to throw away his trash rather than leave it on the couch for her to find in the morning. Then a hug.

H/B/MR. RN: Enjoys spontaneous hand-holding.

LADY: Wants him to “hold” his nail clippings all the way to the trash can.

H/B/MR. RN: Appreciates a kind word and knowing his efforts are appreciated.

LADY: The same. Especially if those words are, “Hey honey, why don’t you go lay down/hang out with your friends/stare at nothing for a while? I’ll take care of the kids/dinner/cleaning up all the dog hair.”

H/B/MR. RN: Excited by sexy underwear.

LADY: Excited his underwear made it into the hamper.

H/B/MR. RN: Wants to make dinner.

LADY: Wants to eat anything she does not have to cook.

Women want the romance just like you dudes. We love love and want to feel loved.  We like flowers and kind words just like any other human being. We just want it with a side of everyday actions.

So boys, when you are picking out those chocolate covered strawberries for your lady-friend, take a moment to think. Maybe the best accoutrement to go with the strawberries is mowing the lawn. Romance can take many forms. I know mine looks a little different.

But if my husband ever forgets to get me flowers on V-day I will beat him…with his box of soggy baseball cards.

 

Advertisements

Am I Really This Romance-Challenged?

Lurking just around the corner, with its paper doilies and chalky heart candies, is Valentine’s Day.  Therefore, it feels appropriate to discuss aspects of romance, wooing, and amore.

Or lack thereof.

Each of us is born with a special talent.  Many have the genius in the area of love. They walk among us as mere mortals, but have been hit by Cupid’s arrow. They spread love and joy while throwing rose petals in the wind. They compose sonnets, look passionately into the eyes of their lover, and say things like, “Your skin is like fresh calf’s milk,” and mean it. They are romantic.

I am not one of these people.

But I married one.

My husband is a writer. He does not do it for a living, but he is excellent at it. Since I have known him, he has written me poems on cards, sticky notes, and emails – all beautiful, all from his heart, zero gag-factor. He loves to surprise me, more than enjoys giving well thought-out presents, and should win a blue ribbon for his gift wrapping skills.  He plans ahead for special occasions. He is romantic.

I, on the other hand, am slightly challenged in this arena. I like to tell my husband that my gifts lie elsewhere – such as properly loading the dishwasher and sneezing.

Oh I remember every holiday and birthday, but I don’t go all out. I get a card and sign it,

“Love, Me”

Sometimes I like to add my own flair such as: “Love Always,” “You’re the best!” or the one that makes my husband look at me as if I just ate cocaine for breakfast, “We’ve made it!” I figure if I just spent $3.99 on a card proclaiming eternal love and soul mate companionship, what the hell else can I say? Hallmark took care of it. Done.

I have tried to be amorous in the past – epic failure.  Many moons ago, I once made heart-shaped muffins for a boyfriend. I obtained the recipe from Cosmopolitan in a section entitled, “Ways to Show Him You Care.” It was part of their Valentine’s edition and I thought, “Sure, I care.” The result was a bunch of rock-hard inedible lumps that (and trust me on this) looked like a zoologist’s collection of shrunken heads (or whatever profession collects those).  Apparently I didn’t care enough.

I feel totally phony when I try to be romantic. It’s just not my thing. I come off sounding like the Nasonex Bee with a speech impediment. Ridiculous.  Also, prolonged eye contact freaks me out. It’s not a staring contest people, look away.

Aside from my husband and me, the law of opposites really does apply to romance.  I have witnessed this polarized attraction in other couples as well. One must be slightly dull for the other to pour on the adoration. It works; it evens out the scale and keeps the earth revolving.

Can you imagine if both parties in a relationship were romantic? What would that look like? 1) They’d never get out of bed causing job loss; 2) They would have a hypoglycemic problem with all the chocolate eating; 3) They’d develop a severe form of dry-eye due to staring at each other for hours; and 4) even Harlequin Romance novels would vomit a little with all the usage of gooey language. Yuck. No thanks.

I think I’ll stick with the way things are – even Stephen. I love my husband, and he loves me. He knows it because I tell him (sometimes) and I take care of him (daily). He can make it rain pink hearts, See’s Candies, and nights of passion.

Because at the end of the night, someone’s got to take out the trash. And that someone is me.