By Wayne William Cipriano
This piece is not for chicks; it is written for guys.
So, it’s St. Valentine’s Day. How many of us shared the chocolate-and-a-restaurant-meal failure of imagination?
They say chicks receive five times the gifts that guy’s get (measured in dollars spent), but that’s understandable, isn’t it?
So, we’re taking them out to dinner. We find a pair of slacks with a crease, a shirt without wrinkles, and a tie without a soup stain and we are ready to rock. They take a lot longer. You’ve been all set for quite a while, walking around jingling your keys, looking out the window, and she comes out and you think “Whoa, this was worth waiting for!”
You come on all suave like Fred Astaire – open the door for her, squire her to the car, open that door, seat her, close her door and sort of strut around the car because anyone who doesn’t know you and sees the two of you tonight will look from her to you and think, “That dud must have money … or something!”
You slide under the wheel, shut the door, fire up the car, and then sit there for a moment. You shut it down, climb out of the car, and walk back up the porch steps. You glance over your shoulder and you see she’s laughing so hard her entire body is shaking. So, yeah, she noticed and wasn’t going to say anything.
You go inside, change into your street shoes and come back to the car. It was embarrassing, but it could have been much worse…
Those fuzzy pink bunny slippers the kids got you for Christmas are REALLY comfortable.
She enjoyed chocolates, a dinner out, a good laugh and stuff…a most memorable St. Valentine’s Day for both of us.