Since I have been married longer than I’ve been legally able to feed myself or gamble, I guess you might say at the game of love I’ve been lucky – or at least haven’t CRAPPED out! Yes, despite my curmudgeony fud duddery about most holidays, I have a soft choco spot in my heart, as well as on my shirt, for Valentines day and all of its romantic notions. Who can knock a day truly shaped for simpletons like me where seeing RED is required and wrapping gifts in foil for your ‘goil’ is A-OK, as long as they’re crammed in a blood-colored box.
Don’t worry it’s just the sugar high talking. Truly aside from my bulbous ‘gut-blubb’ to rub and fluffy man-mallow membrane, my head n’ hide are still just as hard to get through as a cellophane sealed heart-box full of chalky chocolate. Even on ‘V’ day my wife expects nothing of me but to remain practical, predictable, and loyal to my nature, as more of an unadorned thorn in her side rather than a radiant rose always at the ready.
So to mix it up a bit this year, beyond a ‘hunka hunka’ of caloric candy love, I will remodel the bathroom and greet my wife’s frosty feet with a warmed floor and toasty heat treat. In our lav, besides me, we have a round, resource hungry and frigid sky-blue commode hung on the wall, atop an oh-so-cold basement with no insulation at all. Yes my un-loved blue-loo has seen better days, so with hammer, chisel and mission true, I must mount a shiny-white low-flow elongated pot, to hopefully NOT miss in on cue.