Ghost of Valentines Past

We decided to book a table in a chic Italian restaurant, one lit by candlelight, with dutiful servers and soft music. It seemed utterly romantic and decadent, mostly because we had to dress up and also because we were blowing a week's worth of groceries on the thing. We'd been married four years, which was massive at the time, and we had careers and two salaries and an apartment with a staircase -- two whole floors. And a dishwasher you had to pull out of a closet, roll across peeing linoleum and hook up to the sink. So that Valentine's Day, we were living large.

I left work early to hurry home and change. I was going to wear high heels and ditch the Doc Martens and jeans. A skirt! Shaved legs! Makeup! I was 1/2 mile from home when my car wheezed and sputtered and sighed and died. At an intersection. Near nothing except for a bank that was closed and a house with no lights turned on. And no cell phone because they weren't invented yet. And panic set in.

I did what any damsel in distress would do: I sat on the hood of my car and waited for the husband to ride by. I knew he'd left work later than me so I figured he would pass in no time. Which was wishful thinking as he is chronically late. So I sat there on the hood, in the dark, smoking butts and getting mildly panicky. 

I saw his headlights! I jumped from the hood. I waved my arms like an idiot (I was saved!) and yelled his name about twenty times. I could see him clearly, lit up by the green light he was speeding through, singing along to the radio. I saw his rear bumper, dented, zooming down the road to our house where he was imagining giving give me flowers and get all romantical with his young bride in high heels. Who he had just raced by, who was stranded on the side of the road, who was not in high heels and who was in fact weepy and a little nervous and almost out of cigarettes.

I don't remember how he eventually found me. I think I had started, sullenly, sadly walking home. The restaurant was closing but he called them and explained and begged and they were moved enough to give us table where they served us not so much what we wanted but whatever they had left. And they gave us on-the-house tiramisu, with a candle in it, and I even think one of the waiters sang to us in Italian. They were off the clock so I'm pretty sure they were all well into the vino. I suppose that added to the charm.

I tried to play footsy, since I was now fed and into the vino myself, but I think my giant punk rock boot knocked the leg of the table which was awkward so I decided against it.

This year? This year we'll watch a soccer game and I'll tell him to pipe down so as not to embarrass the girls and the GFYO will knock some ladies diet coke over and then we'll leave and have dinner somewhere, without burning candles because that could lead to serious trouble. We'll say -- sit on your bottom and eat your dinner and watch out and really? and no sir! and wow! and shhhh and finally, let's go. We'll tuck them in, we'll settle on the couch, we'll flip through the channels and yawn and hold hands maybe. We'll split a Good Humor drumstick or maybe some old m&ms and we won't miss the tiramisu one bit. 

Happy Valentines Day, lovahs!