Love Is Like A Box of…..

Love, sweet love…

Box of Chocolates LoveI remember Valentine’s Day.  That was the day when we all used to go to school, dressed in something red/white, hands full of cards that our mothers had gone out and bought us, and we spent all night, trying to remember the names of everyone in our class so as not to miss giving anyone one of our precious little cardboard cut-outs.

None of us really knew what the meaning of Valentine’s Day was supposed to be.  We just knew that it meant getting little candies that tasted horrible with sayings on them that meant nothing to us at that age and counting how many Valentine’s Cards we each got.  The one with the most was considered, “Most Liked”.  How sad that was to have set ourselves up for such rejection.

My husband is a teacher so, I watched him sit down and make up 30 little cards with his class list in front of him, taping a Hershey’s kiss to each one.  It took him well over an hour and a half to do.  Off he went to school this morning with his treasures for his little charges then, phoned me at lunch to tell me that he got a whack of cards in return…probably more than some of his collegues.  I guess old habits don’t get tossed easily.

Some nearly 40 years ago, when I first met my husband, I remember being excited over Valentine’s Day.  The thought of a single rose or some chocolates with a card, telling me that I was the one for him was exciting.  I was just 16 at the time so, everything he said and did was BIG.  Now….meh……

I can’t eat chocolate because it gives me migraines.  I can’t stand the thought that the cost of even a single rose could be spent on something else that doesn’t wilt or the cats will tear apart, leaving petal trails throughout the house that I’ll have to clean up.  After some nearly 33 years of marriage now, it somehow just doesn’t pack the same intrigue and excitement that it used to hold.  The love is there 365 days a year so, we don’t really need to say it with flowers or cards or candy.  As a matter of fact, at this point, it seems rather silly.  His everyday gestures, like making me a tea when I’m busy with other things or, making Sunday brunch for me, complete with turkey bacon to save us both cholestrol pills, means more than anything that could be done on a commercially produced day.

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