I hate Valentine’s Day. Always have. When I was single, I looked at happy couples, men buying flowers, and women carrying flowers, and it turned my blood to bile. I hated them all. I was sickly green with envy. It would eat at me until I wanted nothing more than to recreate the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre, except with a lot more carnage. Cupid could take those arrows and shove them up his chubby little ass.
No love songs played in my house. It was The Smiths, The Cure, Elvis Costello… any gloomy, angry, or depressing songs were okay. After endless dating disasters and unhealthy relationships, I resigned myself to being one of those bitter, cranky, single New York women who always wore black, lived with her cat, and had regular threesomes with Ben & Jerry.
Then Mr. Weebles came along.
Who am I kidding, I’m still bitter and cranky, I still wear black, I still have cats, and although the threesomes aren’t so regular anymore, Ben & Jerry and I are still friends with benefits.
Mr. Weebles hates Valentine’s Day too. When we first started dating, he warned me that he didn’t like the forced sentiment imposed by a Hallmark Holiday. Fine, I said. We’ll do the opposite of something Valentine-ish. So instead of lovey-dovey gestures and fancy dinners, we celebrate Valentine’s Day at the least romantic venue of all: Hooters. Because nothing says Be My Valentine quite like cute girls in skimpy outfits, curly fries, and ESPN blaring.
Mr. Weebles is a modest guy. If you’ve read this, you know this about him. He doesn’t dig attention or grandiose gestures. So, honey, if you’re reading this, tough shit.
Our good friend Meizac (Meizac and Mr. Weebles are friends too) posted a song on Facebook this morning—“Dead Sea” by the Lumineers. I hadn’t heard it before so I looked up the lyrics. There were two lines in particular that killed me:
You’ll never sink when you are with me
Honey can’t you see I was born to be your Dead Sea
This is how I feel. Dude, you know that as long as I’m alive, I will never, ever, let you sink. I would kill anyone who tried to hurt you. I love you with every fiber of my being, and I would do anything and everything for you. You were my missing puzzle piece. Thank you so much for finding me. Happy February 11th.
And now if you’ll excuse me, I need a few boxes of tissues.