I never was much of a fan of Valentine’s Day.
We’re told to celebrate the one you love. Buy her some overpriced chocolates, an overnight stay in a seriously expensive hotel, or if you really love her, a round trip to the moon! (I just made that last one up but with a little adjustment I think I might be onto something. What if it was Mars instead of the moon and instead of a round trip, a one way ticket? Darling, of course, I don’t mean you. I know you don’t eat chocolates).
Despite being fully aware that Valentine’s Day is nothing more than an effort to boost sales at the end of long winter, I, along with every other hot blooded male, still feel shamed into buying ‘something’. One Valentines Day, some years ago, I left it very late and learnt that something is not the same as anything.
Driving home from work I realised that my brain was trying to interrupt the banal radio show I was listening to. (There must be some unseen force that attracts radio presenters who say nothing worthwhile and listeners who just want to fill their heads with nonsense to avoid having to think through their dreary day). I don’t know how the brain does it but in the midst of a discussion on why we should encourage our obese children to get outside more – rather than stay at home eating chocolates – I was presented with the image of a halo bedecked man with flowers in one hand and a box of Angel Delight in the other. At that very moment I also saw the solution to my problem. A garage with large buckets of pre wrapped flowers out front.
I really couldn’t tell you whether it was the wilting flowers, the cling film like wrapping paper, or the giveaway price tag I never spotted but, let’s just say, that she wasn’t impressed. Good job the compost bin had enough room for my gift and too little for me.
storiesfromadam 