Valentine’s Day comes once every year and yet many men run around like chickens with their heads cut off looking for that special gift, buying up whatever comes within reach or attracts their eye, like a Robin to tinsel, and acting as though the holiday took them completely by surprise. There were in fact men still stalking the florist shops or Walmart this afternoon, hoping something was left unwilted and intact, preferably red and in the shape of a heart.
I saw a man in Kohls the other day, all six-foot-two of him trying to appear inconspicuous as he placed his items on the counter for the cashier to ring up. He seemed a bit ashamed and wouldn’t meet the eye of the young girl running the register. I was right behind him and perused his Valentine choices, snickering softly to myself at the strange assortment of romantic gifts. I know–I have an odd sense of humor.
He had a decorative card, a pair of socks with hearts on them, and a small red candle. I can only imagine what scent it gave off. Perhaps the smell of fear, cause he cast a furtive glance my way and appeared to break out in a cold sweat when he saw my interest, as though women all know one another and I was going to pull out my cell and give his wife a ring.
Socks and a candle. Hmmm. There should be a song for that kind of romance.
Love is in the air from the candle by our bed—It’s red and it’s smoking, a glorious red. Happy Valentine’s Day!
I say it again—you are my best friend but your feet are blocks of ice, so I bought you something nice—socks for Valentine’s Day!
I love you enough, a candle I’d snuff, in the middle of the night to shut off the light—Happy Valentine’s Day!
Here is a card, big and red, with hearts and flowers embed, one more thing I bought just for you—the last one they had on the rack—wheww! Happy Valentine’s Day!
Red is also the color of blood when she whacks him upside the head with a skillet. Happy Valentine’s Day!