Bits for Sunday, February 8, 2009

Valentine’s Day has overtaken my house. I consider this a significant improvement over the days of yore when I all but protested the holiday with a sandwich sign. Today my kitchen table houses neatly stacked treats and cards, my kitchen contains the still-cooling round two of baking, my coffee table has cards ready to mail – addressed and in a rubber band, and there’s even an extra candy dish of M&M’s and Hershey Hugs, left over from the baking.

My parents are the proud recipients of a very beautiful (yet crispy) chocolate brownie decked out with hugs, kisses, and white chocolate drizzle. I’ll post a picture on my blog – because it was a bit of a magazine moment.

My nails are currently drying in a lovely shade of Red Hot, and the plans for the actual holiday include sparkling grape juice, chocolate covered strawberries, and a heart shaped pizza. Yes, I have come a long way from the days of wearing all black and staring at the Grow-A-Date.

If you didn’t know me in the Grow-A-Date years, allow me to explain. A friend gave him to me as a consolation one year. He’s a little red sponge man wearing boxer shorts and a bow tie, carrying a bouquet of carnations and a heart shaped box. His feet stick straight out sideways, and his hair resembles an unfortunately overgrown mop. You drop him in water and he “grows” – which really just looks like a bad case of bloating – moppy hair and all.

I’ve retired the Grow-A-Date and have decided to just enjoy the opportunity to give to others (and indulge in pizza and sparkling grape juice) despite the lack of an actual living date. However, in Grow-A-Date’s absence, I found another substitute, actually also given to me by the same friend. It’s a poster with a picture of a charming mannequin dressed in a suit, complete with a rose on his lapel. At the top, it says, “Man of My Dreams.”

Here are some of his best qualities:

Always knows just what to say: nothing.

You’ll never have to make his dinner, do his laundry or pick up his dirty socks.

He’ll never outgrow you intellectually.

He’s a good listener.

You won’t have to meet or impress his mother.

He can’t answer your phone or borrow your car.

He’ll never ask you if you’ve gained some weight.
And at the very bottom of the poster, it says:

He’s cute, he’s quiet. And if he ever feels the need for “space,” take him apart limb by limb and give him some.

Yes, it’s all true – some of it temptingly so – but he also doesn’t give very good advice, he can’t truly understand a bad hair day, and he doesn’t look very cuddly.

So I think I’ll just put Mr. “Man of My Dreams” in the same category with moppy-haired “Grow A Date.”

The last couple of years that I’ve determined to really enjoy Valentine’s Day and make it a day of celebrating other people and how much I appreciate them, I have found the day is not all that awful after all. So even if you aren’t a huge fan of the mush and ridiculousness that the day sometimes is, take it as an opportunity to love a friend – who might just need a hug. The real kind. Not the kind on my coffee table.