it’s all cupid and junk, future wife
Happy Valentine’s Day.
So I’m not sure if you’re a sappy outside/tough but still sappy inside type, or all tough girl and bluster outside/sappy romantic inside
But it doesn’t matter. I can work with either.
And you’re going to get spoiled regardless.
I’ve been thinking about what that might involve, you know, if you just go ahead and show up already.
Even if you’re a “flowers are just fine” type… Naw. I’m not about perfunctory gestures.
But I wouldn’t rule flowers out completely. For example…
I could get 60 strangers to walk up to you on the street and each hand you one flower. (I really could, I’m surprisingly persuasive.) Your favourite flower. Which you will tell me on our third date and I’ll burn it into my mind. There’ll be a tag on each of these flowers. On the tag there’ll be one word and one number. (And possibly a picture of me making a silly face and giving a thumbs-up.) When the tags are placed in numerical order, the words will form a mini word doodle. Just for you.
I think something moderately sweet, yet kind of a pain in the ass, would represent me pretty well, FW.
Or (And?) I’ll track down your favourite snack treat of all time. If a cute girl has a favourite snack treat, she should get some.
I should warn that it is possible that I’ll go overboard. While deciding between buying you three or four of them, I’ll split the difference and buy you seventeen.
I’ll have a day that’s all about you.
Starting with breakfast in bed. Which I’ll deliver with something like, “The challenge, you see, is making sure the toast is done at the exact same time as the eggs. Scientists have been working on it for years. YEARS.”
You’ll call me a “Dork.”
I’ll feign outrage. Probably by saying, “Outrage!”
I’ll sneakily come up with the PERFECT romantic 12 song playlist and put it on your ipod. I’ll spend 75 hours working on this list.
You’ll listen to it while getting dressed for dinner. That I made. (While rocking an apron.) This part will be a bit of an adventure. But I suspect that you’re the brave type. To test that theory, I’ll mumble things like “You wanted your chicken ‘rare,’ right?”
While getting dressed, you’ll be looking at your ass in the mirror. You’ll realize you’re not quite as in love with it as I am, but that you’re glad that I like it so much.
You’ll tell me those jeans are a size smaller than you normally wear.
I’ll tell you that I don’t understand girls’ jean sizes.
You’ll say, “Wearing a smaller size makes me happy. It’s good.”
I’ll look at your ass and say, “Daaaamn right it’s good. Mrrrwwwwooowwwr.”
You’ll say, “You’re cute.”
I’ll say, “I really am!”
And I’ll wear your favourite outfit on me (and likely something you picked out.)
You’ll say “You remembered.”
And I’ll say, “This? It was the only thing clean.”
Because I’m like that.
But I’ll smile.
And you’ll know.
And you’ll smile.
And I’ll love it.
Instead of doing any of these things, I’ll likely watch soccer on Sunday and work on my follow-up to this. Maybe I’ll write a super romantic scene for it.
Have a great day.
And hopefully next year, lady, you’ll be my valentine.