So here it is almost 5:00 p.m. on Valentine's Day (kissing cousin to Patrick's Day--ha hahahahahaha Joke!) and the flowers I've been told to expect haven't shown up yet.
Not that I mind, particularly. I like to think I have a realistic outlook, and it has occurred to me that St. Valentine's Day is to florists as December 23rd is to post office employees or, more accurately, New Year's Eve is to bartenders.
So I'm feeling pretty good. I managed to get the kids' valentines filled out and sent to school, because God forbid the little tykes sit and fill out 20 cards apiece all by themselves. The fourth grade classroom party is over, ably supervised by me and a few other mothers. The Valentine's loot has been brought home, examined, and/or eaten. (When did all this candy become de rigueur? It's as bad as St. Halloween's Day around here.) At least part of tonight's dinner is cooking, my children have finished their homework, and I appear to have made it through the day in one piece. I really don't have much to whine about.
On the other hand, for Valentine's Day, I'm giving my husband ... a pair of red cashmere socks. Which I bought on sale. With his money. And nothing more. Nary a bite of chocolate will he receive.
So maybe I am feeling just a little bit vindictive.
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Gentle Readers:
For the time being, I have turned off comment moderation. Please don't spam; it's not nice.
xxx, Poppy.