E and I both are the kind of people that are a bit snarky with Valentine’s Day. For E it has a lot to do with aesthetics (“God, all the garish red and pink and that too sweet chocolate.”). My only real appreciation for the holiday is that it has its roots in the ancient festival of the Lupercalia, which along with various celebrations of spring included asking the gods to protect the newborn lambs from wolves. There’s something delightfully wicked when you consider that somehow that became a holiday to celebrate romantic love. So even as E and I celebrated Valentine’s Day, we did so, in part, with both of our tongues tucked firmly into our respective cheeks.
E sent me two ‘make your own Valentine’s hearts candies’ via email, completely awesome both for the Lupercalia tie-ins and the fact they were black hearts.
After making a Valentine’s dinner of pasta and clam sauce, with a bottle of ‘Menage a Trois’ white wine (E: “This is as close as you’re getting.”) we moved on to the most amorous task of painting my bedroom (which is now a rocking green/grey color that gives the room exceptional cave qualities).
Most importantly, I thought that I had won the ‘Anti-Valentine’s Day Present’ contest hands down by presenting E with a potato masher as a gift. That was until this last Thursday when E, having gone to the corner drugstore to pick up some cleaning supplies for the floors we were removing the carpet from in my house, came back with the below and said, “Here, I got you a late Valentine’s Day present.”
And with that she swiped the ‘Best Anti-Valentine’s Day Present’ trophy from my hands. How could I even possibly compete?
- She turned a Valentine’s gift into an Anti-Valentine’s gift
- She bought it a week and a day after Valentine’s Day
- She bought it for 75% off
- The rose on the front? It scores 110% on the kitsch meter.
Well, now I know I’m competing with a pro.