It's Valentine's, I'm in Trouble, and I Don't Know Why
I was thinking about February the other day. Things were slow, I was off work, and my wife wasn’t speaking to me. So I was thinking about February. February trivia. February holidays. Like Valentine’s day. Just random, disconnected, lonely thoughts.
Did you know…that although February normally has 28 days (and 29 days every four years) that it has also been a 30-day month on several calendars? True story. It was a long time ago, when countries were moving from the Julian to the Gregorian calendar; but 30 days nonetheless. And back then, they didn’t have a Valentine’s day for a guy to forget.
Did you know…that Mary, Queen of Scots was beheaded in a February? During 1587, actually. After she’d been in jail for 19 years for being part of a plot to overthrow her cousin, Queen Elizabeth. And also because – according to historical sources – that Mary forgot to get flowers for Elizabeth that year.
Did you know…that Saint Valentine’s day – the most romantic holiday of the year here in the US -- is celebrated on the 14th of February? And that it commemorates a Catholic priest who was clubbed to death on that date in 269? (Which is something that wives/girlfriends/significant others are occasionally known to do to their husbands/boyfriends/no-longer-significant others who forgot to get them flowers on that day.)
Did you know…according to research done by the Society of American Florists, that while 61% of men would like to receive flowers on Valentine’s day, only 40% of them ever have? And that none of the disappointed 21% ever got into a hissy fit because their wives forgot to get them something on that day. Not even one of them forgotten fellas.
I’m not drawing any conclusions here…I’m just saying…I mean: I’ve never gotten flowers on Valentine’s day. Have I been hurt? Have I sulked? Have I thrown things, scaring the cats so that it jumped up on the armoire and knocked down the rare dishes, which made it run and hide behind the sofa, accidentally tearing down a window shade while I was in an open bathrobe with my hair in curlers...making the dog across the street bark frantically, so that his owner to ran out and see what was causing all the commotion?
No! I’ve never done that. Not once.
Harumphhhh...
About Me
- Ricardo Birmele
- Pacific Northwest, United States
- I'm a husband, father, author, photographer, flyer, golfer, musician, and all around nice guy. If only I were good looking, my life would be complete.
1 comment:
I don't ever recall throwing a hissy fit about NOT getting flowers on Valentines Day, only a couple FOR GETTING flowers on that day but guess I may not function as others like me.
I'd like a man to do nice things for me or say nice things to me or get me some other small token of love on a day or night when it just seems fitting and not when society and the commercialized system says he should. I don't want the same dozen roses that the florist created for a hundred other people or the same silly bear shipped to my house for even more than the natural flowers that are marked sky high for the day.
So why is it that people follow this craziness year after year no matter if they can buy petrol or afford their needed healthcare or healthy food?
Leland and I used to have this debate every year. I'd ask him not to spend my money for overpriced flowers on Valentines Day. (Not sure why I wasted my breath). One year he sent a dozen and a half very large red roses loaded with baby's breath and other greens to me at a nursing home in Atlanta just two hours before I had to fly on to my second state of the week and wouldn't be able to take them with me! I was livid!. . . . seeing in my mind's eye the wasted $75 on my credit card. (Little did I know that it was actually $95 or things could have been worse) So my instant reaction to the cute little receptionist rushing them to me with beaming face was "That B......!" She stopped dead in her tracks and said, Oh Ms Hines, I'm not sure you 'deserve' him! I quickly realized how my reaction sounded and what she must think. I tried to recover and put my cheery professional self back together. And upon leaving the center about an hour later I left some really nice red roses for that cute little receptionist who had come to feel sorry for herslef that no man was contributing to the national economy by buying her roses on this particular day.
(In retrospect, maybe she was right. Maybe I didn't deserve a man that thinks [or doesn't think] like that!}
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