I say it every year – I hate Valentine’s Day. Even if I had a billion dollars, I’d still find a way to mess it up. I guess I’m just not a very romantic guy.
My idea of the best way to show my wife I love her is to get up early in the morning, wade out into some frigid marsh somewhere, lure some geese within range, and bring the carcasses of those creatures back to my bride.
I’ve done that for her in the past, but it didn’t seem to have the desired effect. I just don’t get it. When I complained to my coworkers that my romantic gesture fell flat, they sided with my wife. They all insisted it would be much more romantic to arrange for a babysitter, get dinner reservations at some fancy restaurant, and to recite poetry to my wife over candles and wine.
What a crock. That’s not romantic. That’s bribery and plagiarism. I still think my idea is much more romantic. After all, it hearkens back to the very beginnings of love and partnership between a man and a woman.
When humans first started dating, a guy didn’t roll up to his girlfriend’s cave on his sportswheel (which archaeologists have confirmed was the precursor to the sportscar). He didn’t treat her to dinner at some trendy five-rock restaurant. No, he brought her the edible portions of some animal – preferably a dangerous animal – he had killed himself. It was the purest gesture of support, respect, and love then, and in my opinion, it still is today.
Actually, I think it’s an even bigger gesture in modern society. Sure, we have more efficient methods of hunting than the cave men did, but cave men had to hunt their own food. They couldn’t run down to the corner Safeway for a pound of ground mammoth.
I stand by my gift of goose, thank you. But I think I’ll get some jewelry, and maybe some flowers, as a backup.