The night before:
Pick a fight with your husband over pickle juice left in the fridge
= perfect single rose
Be a blubbering mess on the lounge after a horrendous day at work the previous day and then a day full of meetings with people working with your 6ft4 five year old, only crying ONCE (out of frustration and anger after hearing the phrase ‘we don’t have the resources’ for the billionth time knowing full well that means ‘this shit needs to be done yesterday and you are on your own lady’)
= box of ‘Favourites’ from the corner store (on SPECIAL! SCORE!)
Feeling benevolent and chill after taking a calm the motherfucking fuck DOWN pill
= Send MPS a standing joke Valentines card via SMS while he is sitting next to me.
On the day:
Wake to the dulcet tones of the garbage truck turning into the street and MPS running outside with a bag of rubbish and the bins.
Returning to bed with a latte.
(he is such a good boy)
Finally rise to find Boo sitting on the floor rummaging through the box of Favourites, picking HIS favourites and then have him look at me like ‘DUH, what did you expect woman?’
Feel guilty and vow to make some sort of romantic gesture in the form of a baked good and maybe a washed shirt or two.
And spaghetti carbonara for dinner. Inspired by a text message from (vegetarian) Too late last night requesting the recipe ‘for a friend’.
Yeah, sure… the lure of bacon is irresistible.
Do you do V Day? Or bacon?