deVere at Large
It was V-Day minus 4. This year I was going to be traditional. For decades I had purposefully gone against the sentimental approach, thinking My Valentine valued my heightened creativity on such occasions.
However, last year, what I considered was my piece de resistance — a remote-controlled vacuum cleaner that actually climbed stairs — did not sit well with My Inamorata. (The stair-climbing feature was, I’ll admit, a bit of an overreach since we don’t have any stairs.) I believe her reaction was, “YOU CAN’T BE SERIOUS!” or words, rather more serious, to that effect. Our children tried to save the day.
“Gee, Mom, it’s a lot better than that big extension ladder,” my Faithful Daughter offered.
(On which I put a big red ribbon! Thank you.)
“Or that do-it-yourself oil-changing kit,” my sometimes Faithful Son jumped in.
(Which I wrapped in very pretty red foil with little hearts on it!)
So this year it was going to be flowers. Maybe even chocolates.
“What are you getting Mom this year?” my sometimes Too Inquisitive Son asked.
Flowers.
“That’s funny, Dad. No, really, what are you getting her? I saw this really cool surf casting reel …”
I cut him off. And chocolates, I told him. He stood there, waiting for the punch line.
Daughter came next. “Hey, Dad, I think I know what Mom would really like!”
Flowers, I replied. And maybe chocolates.
Cynical Son rejoined, “Yeah right. No, I mean I saw welding mask …”
I held up my hand for silence.
“Dad, you know you have to order flowers like a month in advance, right?” my Dreadful Daughter informed me.
…
“You know what I’d really like this year?” my Valentine asked as we emptied the dishwasher. As was their custom, our progeny had hastily withdrawn from the kitchen so we were alone.
Yes, I replied. And it will really surprise you.
“You know how I feel about surprises, dear.”
Yes, beloved. And finally, I think I know how you feel about St. Valentine’s Day, too.
“Really?” My sexy courtesan queried, ripping her apron off.
Really, I authoritatively answered and headed for my office. Which was, on reflection, the wrong way. Reality struck. I spent the next 48 hours pricing out roses and chocolates. The message I left on my banker’s voice mail about the possibility of a second mortgage on my mini SUV went unanswered. The children’s college fund was under $100 — again — so that was a non-starter.
As V-Day relentlessly approached and after having searched under all the sofa cushions in the house, I had amassed $4.68 in change, which left me about $140 shy of my goal. With less than 24 hours left, I panicked. I called my broker. Even though I hadn’t talked to him in over a year, he remembered me.
“Tough to forget a guy who wanted us to put together an IPO on his dog-naming service.”
I could feel his smirk. At the time, I thought it was an excellent idea.
“By the way, how did that turn out?”
I ignored the question and asked him if I had any cash in my account. He pulled it up on the screen.
“You haven’t put a penny into your portfolio in, well, in a very long time.”
Yes, I know. Do I have any cash?
“Let’s see. When that llama farm went under you got hit real hard. Whew, that broccoli burger company, ouch.
Cash. I mumbled.
“Wow. JC Penny, Circuit City, Toys Are Us. You had them all. What a bummer.”
Cash?
“Looks like all that’s left is about $150.00.”
My heart leapt. I would make this happen. I picked up the chocolates (not a problem), then I rushed to the florists to place my order.
“I’m sorry, we’re out,” the nice lady told me.
Out? Out! How can you be out of red roses the day before Valentines? I wasn’t very nice.
“Happens every year. Everybody’s out. You could try Savannah.”
I tried Savannah and after 11 calls, actually found a florist shop that had roses.
“Now, these aren’t in the best shape, and we don’t deliver to …”
I quickly gave her my name and said I would be there in an hour.
I drove like the wind, my heart soaring. I would show My Darling I knew how to be traditional. I could be romantic, sentimental, normal.
The roses were a little droopy, but they had those little water things on the end of the stems, which made them “official” in my book. And though the florist had to use a recycled box (it had a few Santa Claus stickers on it), it was your basic long white box.
On St. Valentine’s day morning, we each disappeared to our hiding spots where we had stashed our gifts and quickly returned, holding presents behind our backs. The kids gave us both cards and got ready for school. I made My Valentine go first.
She began hesitantly. “Well, I know you like to be a little different on Valentine’s Day and you’re always so mysterious, and, quite honestly, your gifts can be a little goofy. Just once I wanted something traditional around here, you know, flowers, candy, so I got you …”
I couldn’t wait! I pulled out my long white box just as …
SHE PULLED OUT HER LONG WHITE BOX!
“Flowers?” she asked.
I nodded.
“And in your other hand?”
We both pulled out a box of chocolates. Godiva.
I must admit that 24 roses looked pretty darn impressive on our dining room table. And we didn’t have to share the bonbons.