Tag Archives: Sweetie

I (Heart) You, Babe

St. Valentine’s Day come round again, bringing with it the pure joy and sense of togetherness that is love.

It surely wouldn’t bring with it feelings of inadequacy, panic, anger, frustration, sexual frustration, crumpling under pressure, performance anxiety, fervent desire to be somewhere — anywhere — else. Surely.

Ha, don’t call it Shirley.

I’m not sure if it’s a difference between dudes and dudettes, but the men I know really have no special affection for Valentine’s Day. To us, it’s just a day where we used to get candy in school and (at least for me) that inadequate feeling when the only Valentines in your bag were the ones that got given out to everyone in the classroom.

Even when I ostensibly grew up, I never saw all that much reason to celebrate Valentine’s Day. I probably got it from my AlohaDoc, aka my dad.

I can’t remember how many times he told me the story of how, when he was a young dude himself, he used to break up with whoever his girlfriend was at the time right around the first of February. That way he didn’t have to go out and purchase a gift.

Women, on the other candy assortment, seem to love Valentine’s Day. I found this out during the first Valentine’s Day I spent with the lady who would become my wife, known to me then as She Who Must Be Having More Fun Than Anyone I’ve Ever Met Before.

We were about to swap presents when she said, “I love Valentine’s Day. It’s always been so special to me.”

At which point my heart crumbled to dust, sifted out my body and landed in a small, dry pile on the linoleum of her dad’s kitchen floor. Because, being an idiot, I’d managed to get her something remarkably unspecial. Heck, it was so unspecial, I can’t even remember what it was.

What I do remember is the look on her face, the sadness trying to hide behind a really bad poker face. I’ve learned since then. Valentine’s Day is a big deal.

Me? Still not so much. The way I see it, I would rather receive spontaneous recognition of someone’s love for me during the year than have one day where that display is mandated. I mean, is it really special when you’ve got to do it?

I’m not so sure about that.

Anyway, I don’t want to come off sounding all cynical and anti-love. I’m not. Well, not anti-love. I can’t help being cynical. I mean, after all, my eyes and ears do work and I pay attention to the world. How could I not be cynical?

But not cynical about love. Love is amazing. Love. Love will keep us together. It’s just Valentine’s Day I have a problem with.

That said, I still went out and got some very nice presents to hand over to my Sweetie. I’m not telling because she’ll probably read this before I have a chance to give them to her.

The hug’s going to be nice. As for anything else. . .

See you later, dudes.

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She Who Must Be Discussed

Today is different.

Normally, near the middle of November, the nights would be getting darker earlier and there would be all-around less light to guide our way.

Today, though, there’s a bit of a hiccough in that whole less-light thing.

Mostly because of all the candles residing on the birthday cake belonging to my wife, known to me as She Who Must Be Steaming Mad Right About Now.

I really shouldn’t make old-age jokes about her. I really shouldn’t.

I think I can still outrun her, though. In a sprint. If it goes longer than a sprint, I’m a goner, as she’s definitely got the stamina to last longer in that sort of race. Still, when you’re running for your life, you never know what sort of reserves you (and by you I mean I) might find.

It’s tempting to note that she is, as of today, a year older than I am. After all, I don’t turn her age for another seven days, 168 hours, 10,080 hours, 604,800 seconds.

That’s a big number, 604,800.

Must be a loooonnnggg time. It’s okay, though, because I like older women.

But there’s more to She Who Must Be Itching To Get Her Hands Wrapped Around My Throat The Sooner The Better (For Her) than her  age.

In addition to being one of the premier obstetrician/gynecologists in the southeast, she’s also an amazing mother and wife. And I’m almost positive that she’s single-handedly been responsible for the upsurge in Nordstrom stock over the last couple of years.

Dressing well hasn’t always been a priority for her, but I well remember the first time I ever saw her decked out in an expensive, one-of-a-kind outfit.

I was standing at the end of an aisle, next to a very scary dude wearing an odd collar. An organ began playing and, with each note, managed to drag my heart rate higher. My best man, The Principal, stood next to me and had to remind me to breathe. I’d forgotten.

When she first walked out into view, I realized something else: I’d actually forgotten how beautiful she was. I hadn’t seen her in maybe 12 hours, but the last glimpse of her in no way prepared me for the vision that approached down the aisle. I thanked my lucky stars that I’d found her and she’d found me.*

This next bit isn’t really a tangent so stick with me. My Dad told me that he used to call his mom on his birthday to thank her for having him. I’m going to steal that idea. I think it’s about time to call my mother in-law and let her know how grateful I am that she had the foresight and vision to bear into this world someone wonderful who thought I was the same.

She’s not perfect, my wonderful She Who Must Sometimes Be Tolerated, But More Often Be Celebrated, but that’s part of the fun. Finding her jagged places and fitting into them with mine, sanding down the bits that don’t fit and glueing those that match.

So tonight I’m going to give thanks for her as I light a candle, and another candle, and another candle, and another candle. . . Well, you get the point.

Happy birthday, Sweetie. Let’s go have some fun.


*Although right  now, I get the feeling it would be a better idea if she weren’t able to find me. Maybe once she cools off a bit. After the heat from the candles dissipates.
Welp. That’s just going to make it longer.

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A Yearly Celebration Of Just How Lucky I Can Be

by Richard

It’s been twenty-two years since I managed to convince my wife to actually walk down the aisle with me and actually make the transition from girlfriend to wife.

It’s good to know post-hypnotic suggestions really do work.

What? Well, it was either that or consider the fact that she must have some sort of very tiny, but very significant dane bramage that lets her overlook the nerdy bald guy in the corner and see instead some sort of suave good-looking guy. Surely someone who doesn’t pronounce the words swave-ee and de-bone-er.

Twenty-two years ago today, I got lucky and I’ve managed to stay lucky for the rest of my life since then.

It’s a bit intimidating when you know you married up. The love of your life is a shining reminder that not only can things get better, but they sometimes get better for you and you’d better do everything in your power to make sure it stays that way.

Not that She Who Must Be Catered To, Her Every Whim Made Reality would ever be one to take advantage of that tendency in me. Nope. Not her.

I am a very lucky man. Not only does she put up with my various deeply geek interests, she actually has grown to share in a few, like the zombies of The Walking Dead or the magic and dragons of A Game of Thrones. They’re small steps, but they’re steps all the same. And she’s definitely the only woman I know who will yell just as loudly as do I at a football game when those refs so blatantly miss such an obvious call.

A fiery woman, my wife is passionate about a lot of things and has no problem telling anyone around about them. Fortunately, one of the things about which she’s most passionate is the life of her husband and sons. While they might not know it yet (now that their mom and I have entered the idiot phase of their lives), but the young dudes are genuinely lucky to get such an amazing example of womanity to learn from. These lucky dudes won’t be scared off by a strong woman and they’ll be the better for that.

I was. Thanks, Mom.

I’d go into the marvelous physical fact of my wife’s existence, but I don’t want her blushing too brightly. Well, from that at least.

I’m pretty sure we both got lucky together.

What I do know for sure is we’ve both worked hard to make sure we stayed lucky for the past 22 years and will keep working hard to get at least 22 more.

I love you, Sweetie.

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