Don't Take Me Seriously - Book - Page 40
If you’re a guy with female loved ones, the guilt and fear immediately set in.
The guilt is because you really don’t have the least bit of interest in Valentine’s Day. The
fear is because you still have to do the dance. Your females, even if they say otherwise, have
bought into the scam, and your bad performance for the “holiday of love” will be marked in
the romantic grudge-book of eternity—again this year.
Still, you concentrate on happier things, like the playoffs, as January fizzes away.
You’re really not unfeeling, you tell yourself.
When you were young, you were thrilled to give that Valentine card to that cute little girl in
class. You agonized over just what to write and whether to sign it “Love, Bobby.” You settled
for “Happy Valentine’s Day, Bobby,” which was a good choice because she didn’t even give
you a card.
Then there was your first love(s). Elegant dinners out, and roses and chocolates, showed
you knew how to work the system—and you even meant it. Your first few Valentine’s Days
after marriage, you still meant it. There was poetry, jewelry and imaginative surprise
evenings.
But, then you had kids. And, at some point, your imagination and motivation got sucked
away, along with the color in your hair and any interest in anything except curling up in the
fetal position.
Of course, Valentines for the kids were easy when they were young. At the end of your twohour commute home on Valentine’s night, in the middle of your 60-hour work week, you
could stop at the grocery store and snag a couple of stuffed bears and some candy. Your
girls would give you a hug and toss these on the piles they had collected at school, and
everyone was good to go.
Later, when they became teenagers, you could let their boyfriends worry about it. The girls
didn’t appreciate anything you gave them, anyway.
But your significant other, your long-suffering spouse, who deserved your best—that was
always the gut punch. You really wanted her to be happy. Seriously. However, as the years
