Love My Ass, I Hate Valentine's Day

This is a Valentine's Day contest story. Please vote.

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Jilted lover rails on about the expense of Valentine's Day.

Have you seen the price of roses? What is that about? Greed, that's what that's about. Between gas prices and food prices that mysteriously escalate every holiday because of the bullshit excuse of supply and demand, they use the same excuse to raise prices whether they sell more or less.

"Well, we had to raise our gas prices because people are driving less and aren't buying more?"

Huh? No matter if they sell more or if they sell less, it's a win/win for them and a lose/lose for the rest of us.

"Well, we had to raise our gas prices because people are driving more and are depleting our inventory."

Huh? Bullshit! Isn't one of those scenarios when they slash their prices and not raise them? Whether they sell more or sell less, they raise their prices. It's time we all banded together and boycotted gas stations, banks, insurance companies, supermarkets, chocolatiers, and florists. It's time we all turned our televisions off and stopped watching commercials, that is, until they paid more attention to us, the middle class consumer and gave us a price break. Instead of paying television networks to run their commercials, they should pay us to watch their commercials.

Always two weeks before Valentine's Day, the florists make sure that we can't buy flowers early and store them in the refrigerator to give to our wives, girlfriends, or significant others. Trust me, I know, because I tried freezing them, but they never open when thawed. They just thaw, turn brown, and die. All they do to double the price of roses is to add a ribbon, put some greens in with the roses, and wrap them in Valentine's Day paper to make them look prettier. Always thinking, hoping to get a break on the price, I asked the woman behind the floral counter at the supermarket.

"Excuse me, but can I buy a dozen roses without the ribbon, without the greens, and without having them wrapped in paper for half the price, which is the usual price anyway, when it's not Valentine's Day? Since I'll be putting them in a vase and dumping the ribbon and the paper anyway. I don't want to pay for what I won't be using. If I want, I'll add my own damn ribbon and pick some greens from my backyard, ones that the dog didn't pee on, and put them in myself."

"Security!"

Can you believe that shit? She actually called security on me. Now, that's another supermarket that I'm banned from ever patronizing. It's a conspiracy, I tell you. It's all a Valentine's Day conspiracy, just to get more of what little money we have left after the big conspiracy, Christmas. Don't get me started on Santa Clause because with the interest and fees that the credit cards legally charge, there ain't no Santa Claus.

Even looking for a Valentine's card is an expensive and painful ordeal. When did greeting cards triple in price? C'mon, seriously. What's going on here? It's just a piece of paper with a picture and some words.

Greeting cards used to cost little more than a dollar, now they're nearly a five dollar bill. Furthermore...let me ask you a question? Why can't they raise the greeting cards up at eye level, so that we don't have to bend, lean, and stoop down to see them. Always, the better ones are at the bottom and always there's a little old lady, with an ass nearly as wide as the greeting card display, in the way.

As it is, with so many different greeting cards, it's overwhelming. Yet, it doesn't matter, I could look at a hundred Valentine's Day cards and not like any of them. Always, I have to settle for something that remotely resembles the sentiment that I'd write, that is, if I was literate enough to write it. I know what I want to say, but when I go to write it, the words come out differently than what they are in my brain. Instead, always a safe bet, I pick the card with a dog on the cover or a cat or a monkey, a cute monkey, not an ape because then she'll think I'm calling her fat.

If I was to write my own sentiment, even though it's different in my brain, I'd write something like, I love you, as much as my tackle box and my best lure. Even though I'm sincere, even though it's a big compliment, even though that's how I feel because I really do love my tackle box and my best lure, that's not the right sentiment to write to my baby on Valentine's Day. What the Hell is that? If I compare her to my big tackle box, she'll think I'm calling her fat, and that's how the fight will start.

"Tackle box? Are you calling me Fat? Who you calling fat? You're the one that's fat."

Besides, that's not what I meant to write. I thought of it, when I was in the shower and now, once I started rubbing my head to dry my hair, it's gone. I don't remember a damn word of it. It was something about my fishing lure being sexy, sexual, or alluring the way that it wiggles in the water and teases the fish to make them want to eat it, I dunno. I just don't remember. Only, when I was in the shower, it was really good. I was excited about writing that to her in my own damn card that I'd make myself, instead of buying one at the card store, to show her how creative I am and to save the five bucks, too.

Then, just when I thought of another line to write in a card, I thought of, 'If you were a truck, I'd pump you with premium.' Pump her with premium? What the Hell does that mean? See? It sounded good at the time, while I was thinking about it, but as soon as I write it and read it, it's shit. Even though I love my truck, she'd be pissed if I compared her to my truck. That's why I trust Hallmark for times like these, but even they fail me, when I need a romantic card for Valentine's Day.

The same thing happens to me, when I sing. In my mind, I sound exactly like Roy Orbison, that is, until I open my mouth. Then, I have no idea what happens from the time the music goes from my brain to my mouth. As soon as I open my mouth, I sound nothing like Roy Orbison. I sound more like one of those American Idol contestants who think they can sing, but can't. I sound more like my dog howling, only my dog stays more in tune than me.

Come to think about it, did you ever hear an out of tune dog or cat? They all have perfect pitch, don't they? Weird the things that I think about, while not being able to think of a God damn Valentine's Day sentiment to write in a Valentine's Day card to my baby.

'Roses are red and violets are blue, I'm so glad I'm married to you.' Hey, that might work. Only, the best that I could do wasn't very romantic and not nearly good enough. Maybe, as I do every year, I'll just buy her one of those mushy cards, instead of the ones that play music, and make believe that I mean everything that's written in there by smiling and nodding my head, while she reads it. Only, I'll look to see if I can find a mushy card with a dog's head on the cover or some other kind of cute animal, a monkey, a cat or an emu. Emu's are good. They're cute.

Then there's the gifts. Getting too much like Christmas in February, after I just spent all my dough on my baby for Christmas, I can't afford to buy her more bling for Valentine's Day, too, especially when her birthday comes up in April. Give me a break. I'm not made out of money. I'm just a regular guy working a regular nine to five job.

So, lately, with my limited budget in mind, for the last few years, I've been holding back and holding out on my baby. A gift that I normally would have given her at Christmas, I give her at Valentine's Day. Trust me, I don't feel good about saving a Christmas gift to cover my ass for Valentine's Day. If I could save a Christmas gift for her birthday, I would but what's she going to do with a pair of YakTraxs or a flannel nightgown in April? I feel like a cad, but it's all just too much, especially after losing money on the Super Bowl every year.

I can't catch a break. My team could be leading 20 to zip with 3 minutes the play and after a fumble, an interception, and a pass interference call against my team, the game ends at 21-20. They win and I lose again and lose the money that I could have used to buy my baby something nice for Valentine's Day. I must have a curse over my head.

Then, to worsen my mood, Valentine's Day looms on the horizon in the way that I see my mother-in-law walking down the street from the bus carrying her bags. God help me. Fuck, I forgot she was coming. I forgot I was supposed to pick her up at the airport. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Pretending she was a beautiful blonde half my age, who was happy to see me, if you know what I mean, I started walking towards her smiling, as if I was happy to see her. Only, she saw right through me.

"How come you didn't pick me up at the airport, you lazy bum?"

My mother-in-law can never ask me a question without making it a personal attack at the end.

"I didn't know you were coming?"

"You didn't know I was coming? Don't give me that crap, you knew I was coming, asshole."

Matter of fact, she can't end a sentence without making a derogatory remark. See? Oh, yeah, I knew she was coming, in the way that I know I'll get the flu this year and owe money come tax time to the IRS, as well owing unpaid gambling debts, along with interest, to the bookies.

"I mean, of course, I knew you were coming. I just forgot you were coming. I have a lot on my mind."

"A lot on your mind? Gambling, chasing women, and drinking are things you don't even have to think about, idiot," she said. "You forgot I was coming my ass? How could you forget? You're such a moron. Why my daughter married you, I have no idea. You're such a loser, loser. She should have married my girlfriend's son. He's a lawyer now and not a bum like you."

"Sorry. Let me help you with those bags."

If I had to pick which one is worse, my mother-in-law coming for an extended stay or Valentine's Day, without a doubt, I'd pick Valentine's Day. At least my mother-in-law occupies my wife, so that she's not nagging me about doing stuff around the house. The only time it gets bad, is when they both nag me. Then, I just leave the house, get in my car, and drive down to the corner bar for a few pops, while watching the big screen and hoping to score with the lady at the end of the bar, who looks better with every drink. When she starts looking like Kim Basinger in Batman or Kelly Preston, Tom Travolta's wife, in Twins, I know I've had enough to drink to make my move.

One year, I figured I caught a lucky break, when my wife went on a two day business trip the day before Valentine's Day. Oh, boy, I figured I'd finally save a few dollars by buying everything the day after Valentine's Day and have it all ready, when she arrived home. Smart, huh?

"Bye, Honey. Don't worry about a thing. We'll celebrate Valentine's Day when you return. I'll have all your gifts on the coffee table in the living room waiting for you," I said.

With her trip on her mind, I didn't dare remind her about Valentine's Day, of course, until she was at the airport ready to go through security and be stripped searched and sexually violated with all the other passengers. I'm not stupid. I didn't want to mention anything about Valentine's Day at home, in case she asked for her gifts in advance of her trip. See? I'm always thinking.

They markdown the Valentine's Day cards 50% off, the flowers they don't sell are half of what they were, even the satin hearts filled with never enough candy, especially the ones that I like, those chocolate truffles, I love those ones, are drastically discounted.

Only, I wasn't so smart, after her flight was cancelled because of a snowstorm and after sitting for 9 hours on a runway, she was home that night in a foul mood and expecting her Valentine's gifts. Fuck me. Give me a break. I can't win. The only luck that I have is bad luck. She didn't even cook me any supper.

"You didn't buy me nothin' for Valentine's Day, you cheap bastard?"

And then the fight started.

This Valentine's Day, I have it all figured out. It took me a while, but now I know what to do. The day before Valentine's Day, I'll have a big fight with my wife. I'll sleep a couple of nights at my friend Vinnie's house. Then, before I return to the house, I'll hit the flower and candy stores, buy everything at half price, and have great makeup sex. Huh? What do you think? Smart, huh? Finally, I'm thinking with all cylinders firing. I wish I had thought about this a long time ago, only she would have figured it out by now, that I start a fight before Valentine's Day to save a few dollars.

Only, my wife had a surprise for me. When I got home with my wilted flowers, picked over Valentine's Day card that had a bird on it, a pigeon, I think, and stale candy, I couldn't believe my eyes. On the kitchen counter was a giant bouquet of roses, one that not only had a big ribbon but also a bow with lots of greens and was wrapped in pretty Valentine's Day paper. There was a huge chocolate heart, a ten pounder, that was filled with chocolate truffles. Worse of all, my baby was wearing sparkling bling around her neck that didn't come from K-Mart, where I usually buy all her jewelry. Not even having the chance to sit in my easy chair, watch my big screen TV, and drink my beer, she found another man and my ass was out on the street.

"What about me? How can you just dump me like this? Don't you love me anymore? It's Valentine's Day or was a couple of days ago, before we had the fight."

All my stuff was out in the garage.

"Hey, where's my tackle box? I'm not leaving here without my tackle box." Then, I saw it. Maybe I'll go fishing, ice fishing.

Love my ass, I really hate Valentine's Day.

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