Valentine’s Day was yesterday and the only thing I got was a rose from a 65 year old man. It wasn’t some homeless guy on the street or anything – it was one of the Drs. I work with. It was really sweet and unexpected. Why didn’t Huz do anything? Well, having my birthday 5 days later always takes away from Valentine’s Day, plus he hates the holiday because it’s so commercialized. I agree, but it still makes me a bit sad if we don’t do anything to celebrate. It’s not always like this, but it was this year. He better have a fabulous birthday weekend planned for me is all I can say!

Anyway, I’m reminded of a romantic day that he planned for me a few years ago – I think it was “just because” and not for any holiday or anniversary (the “just becauses” are the best kind, aren’t they!?). It was an awesome idea, but it failed miserably. You’ll see why.

On a late Saturday morning in our Chicago apartment, he handed me the Tribune, said something (which I didn’t understand but later found out was a hint), and left. I watched as he drove away, thinking, “Okaaaay. I thought we were spending the day together. WTF!?” I started flipping through the paper to see if a note would fall out or something, but none did. Flip, flip, flip. Nothing. This wasn’t very fun – standing alone in my living room flipping through the damn newspaper. I decided to call him on the cell phone and find out what the heck was going on and what I was supposed to find in the bloody newspaper. He gave the hint again, which I told him I didn’t understand (yes, I was a dumb blond that day – blame it on hormones). He finally said, “look in the classified section!” and hung up. I looked and after scanning the ads I FINALLY found a little ad that said something like “To my sweetheart. The day has come – go to 1022 Davis Street. TKH” (I didn’t get the TKH thing either – it stands for The Kind of Hearts.)

Off I went (we had 2 cars at the time – this would never work now that we share one) to find the strange address. I drove up to Evanston and got mixed around all the one-way streets trying to find the place. I finally found it and parked. It was a florist. Feeling unsure of myself, I walked in not knowing what to say to the shop keepers. I stammered, “Um…I think I’m supposed to pick something up?” They looked back at me with blank stares. Then I said, “Maybe my husband sent me here on a treasure hunt?” They squinted their Asian eyes at me in incomprehension. I finally gave my name and asked if there was something here for me that my husband may have already purchased (though, admittedly, I had to call him again to find out what the hell I was supposed to do because the shop people had no idea who I was or what I wanted). It finally dawned on them that, “Oh yeah. This must be the lady whose husband called 10 minutes ago to remind us what to do when she got here.” Flustered and embarrassed, I took my lovely long-stemmed roses that they finally produced and headed out of the shop smiling despite of myself.

Once in the car, I read the note that was attached which told me to drive to the Victoria’s Secret shop at a nearby mall. I was getting into the groove of the treasure hunt, even if I was pmsing.

Off I went to the VS store and, feeling more confident this time, I told a salesgirl that I was on a treasure hunt and my husband must have bought something for me to pick up. The teenaged girl looked under the desk briefly and said there wasn’t anything there. I insisted that there was something he bought for me, that’s why I was told to come to this particular store. The salesgirls all kind of looked at each other like, “Who is this chick – there’s nothing here for her and we’d rather gossip than help her!?”, and finally got a manager for me to talk to. I explained my situation to her (yet another teenager, by the looks of her) and waited patiently as she went to go look in the safe in back. I waited and waited. About ten minutes went by and she finally came back out – empty handed. She told me she couldn’t get the safe open. I left the store at this point and tried to call Huz again. I was in tears over the whole thing (I TOLD you I was pmsing!), but my damn phone wasn’t working. I gave up, tried to compose myself, and went in asking them to try the safe again. Short of rolling her eyes and sighing, the manager retreated to the back room, this time with an entourage of salesgirls at her side to help her open what I could only imagine as a huge, heart-shaped steel safe that, somewhere deep inside, held a present for me. I continued to wait, getting more and more upset by the fact that I wasn’t having fun and that I’d rather just be with Huz instead. Finally she emerged from the back with, lo and behold, a box in her hands. She roughly handed it to me (grr!) and I spun on my heels and left.

In the car I opened it. Damnit! It was beautiful, but a size small. “Surely Huz knows me better than this! My boobs with NEVER fit in a small…$%@^&*@” Yeah, I was really grumpy at this point. I headed toward the address on the card, which was to a hotel north of the city. When I got to the suite I collapsed in his arms crying over everything. It was so not what it could have or should have been. It was very disappointing to us both.

We chilled out on the sofa for a while and got ready to go out for a nice dinner. Huz ironed his dress pants and turned to step into them when the iron got knocked off the ironing board and went careening straight down onto the top of his foot. He let out a wail and I quickly helped him to the bed. As he lay there we both watched in horror as his foot doubled in size within 5 minutes. Forgoing the fancy restaurant attire, we threw on some jeans and hobbled him through the lobby to the car. Our date that night took place at an emergency clinic and we ate McDonald’s food for dinner. No broken bones, just a bone bruise.

Whew. Talk about one steamy, romantic date, huh?

Oh, and the lingere fit perfectly. Who knew?

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