It is Friday the Thirteenth. And tomorrow is Saint Valentine's Day. Both of these days carry ominous, horrible imagery. A little known fact, there have been several Saint Valentine's Day Massacres. Most of them involve an angry wife who did not want a new SwifterÔ for this special day. Of course, what she did want was hidden behind layers of subterfuge, and guile, guerilla gift exchange.
Women are experts at misinformation. Leading a poor, unsuspecting man along a fairy tale path, singing birds, and dancing rabbits lining the trail. Out of nowhere an anvil* will drop on his foot. While the poor sap is dancing around on one foot, holding the other in both hands, tears streaming down his face, pain choking his ability to hear or understand, she will follow along explaining what he did wrong, at the top of her lungs."Well, if you don't want to talk about it, that's fine." She will say, walking away, as he drops onto his back, waiting for next snow to come and cover him
But, it is all worth it. All of the pain, all of the torment, all of the doubt, all of the half crazed attacks of desperate, paranoid imagination, these are a small price to pay. Walking into the school building where I go to the gym, seeing my wife smile at me. Calling her and hearing her voice, these make life worth living. Mignon Mclaughlin said "A successful marriage requires falling in love many times, always with the same person." And, she was right.
So, to everybody who made it this far, thanks for reading, it hasn't always been easy, maybe it never was. To my wife, Happy Valentine's Day, we should do it again next year. I can't imagine life without you, and I have a pretty good imagination.
*Studies conducted by Acme Cartoon Products indicate an anvil carries the optimal, comic payload for a smashed foot. A piano is an acceptably hilarious method to smash a whole person but is too large and indiscriminate for a target as small as a foot. Wives are free to use whichever device is at hand, of course.
