I knew I wouldn’t come out of this blogging experiment unscathed, and yet I continue to do this.
My faithful reader.
This is my second official clarification for a blog post (read the first here), although this one is not at the urging of The Boss, as she’s unaware I’m writing this. In fact, she’s dead asleep at 9 p.m. with the Berlin Wall already firmly in place.
This clarification has to do with my early Valentine’s Day post of last week.
On Sunday night we were out for dinner with a group of our friends, some of whom have a sadder existence than I and actually read this blog (wait, is it more pathetic to read or write this drivel? Anyway…). So I’m at the very far end of the table from The Boss (boys on one end, girls on the other, just like a Grade 6 dance) and I overhear her saying that people likely think I’m some sort of hero and great romantic after reading my Thursday post.
She – clearly – was not moved by the heartfelt softening of my anti-Valentine’s position. She said it had something to do with the fact I chucked a card and a bag of chocolate (are you telling me Zellers doesn’t use the finest cocoa beans?) at her after I got home from work Thursday night as we rushed to feed The Hurricane and ourselves, pack our bags and make a short 350 kilometre trek home for the weekend.
Well, if that was wrong, then I am guilty. As charged and as sin.
But here’s the deal. I didn’t – no, couldn’t – do the whole flowers thing because we weren’t going to be home for the weekend and they’d be withered and dead by the time we returned Monday night. That’s logical.
The following isn’t, but here it goes anyway.
I simply couldn’t sell out my buddy Dutch like that. There’s a reason that, come June 6, we’ll have been each other’s best man – we take a bullet when we know (or figure) the other is likely to do something stupid like not even get his fiancee a couple of flowers a few months before they exchange the rings.
How could I let him be the only one who failed to achieve the lofty standards set by my jerk someday-brother-in-law and his dozens and dozens of roses, moonlight walks, singing telegrams and $25 entrees? Well, I just couldn’t (although, Dutchie, a card probably wouldn’t have killed ya – you could’ve picked one up when you were grabbing a pack of smokes or hangin’ out at coffee club, y’know).
It’s the whole ‘bros before h … yeah right, you’re nuts if you thought I was actually going to write that.
So I came up short. Again. And I want everyone to know that. I couldn’t sleep soundly ever again knowing there was one person out there who thought I was a Romeo-incarnate, bound to profess my love for my wife with the greatest of spectacles on February 14.
But next year … oh baby, you just wait.
Dutch and I will start the planning at his stag party.