Home » Holiday of the Heart

There's a reason that Cupid's commemoration comes so soon after the Super Bowl. It's an obvious test of the depth of men's romantic tendencies, and, sadly, it's a test they fail more often than a Cosmo relationship quiz.

My husband, God love him, is no exception. He will not become aware that it's time to pay homage to the holiday of the heart until he begins slipping on newspapers that I place in front of the shower. As he steps out, dripping wet and then quickly ends up face down on the floor, staring at a full-page ad that mentions Valentine's Day in a font large enough to be seen by the astronauts on the space station, a light will begin to dawn.

It has taken a mere 20 years of this type of subtle training for my beloved to become adept at interpreting signals from his sweetheart. This year, I can expect a heart-warming present designed to compensate for past transgressions -- something like a useless kitchen item that we already have or an exquisitely wrapped collection of hotel toiletries. I haven't, however, always been so fortunate.

One year, just after our second child was born, I received a bottle of stretch mark-treating cocoa butter clearly purchased last minute at the nearest 24-hour drugstore. This was accompanied by a box of Christmas candy with a 75-percent-off sticker and a card (sans envelope) featuring two kissing chimps. In an attempt to personalize the card, my man had tenderly tried his hand at poetry. Under his name, he'd written:

Roses are red
Violets are blue
You want my body
I know you do.

I've also received my share of ego-shattering lingerie, little bits of fluff that would barely fit the anorexic hips of a Victoria's Secret model. But the worst was a pair of silk pajamas – size XL -- that my husband brought back from a business trip to China. Designed for the smaller Asian woman, these pernicious PJs wouldn't go past my knees. I can tell you, nothing gets a wife in the mood for love more than struggling to fit into anything marked XL. I'm still in therapy over that.

My spouse has also tried to be sweet with scent. One year, he gave me two sample-size bottles of the same perfume worn by his mother for the past five decades. Big, big mistake.

Another time, in a bid to impress me with his thoughtfulness, he procured a cylinder head from a World War II-era airplane (if you don't know what this looks like, consider yourself lucky) and created a lovely lamp that added a certain je ne sais quoi to our living room décor. It took me weeks to arrange an accident that sent this romantic piece of wreckage back to the junkyard.

I'm hoping that by our 30th or possibly 40th anniversary, my mate will have progressed to the point where he'll fill a vase with a single rose and a diamond necklace, or maybe the keys to a new Jaguar. In the meantime, I'll try not to lose heart.

© Jackie Papandrew 2008

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