My husband and I don’t really celebrate Valentines Day. We figure that loving and appreciating each other every day works out to be a better deal than dropping a few grand on jewelry an overpriced food once or twice a year (the other day of big spending would typically be an anniversary, which we acknowledge and enjoy each year, but we don’t do go overboard). We just aren’t big ticket gift givers. In honor of that, I decided to go all out and send that darling guy a series of four ecards, prescheduled to arrive at various times throughout his overnight shift.
Then … Yesterday, I woke up to this delightfully quirky Valentine:
Close up of the inset heart:
Inside of the heart:
I can’t begin to top that. When people talk in cliches about their “better half,” it’s typically just a string of meaningless words that sounds slightly less offputting than “the ole ball and chain.” I won’t stoop to that level, and I won’t demean how awesome he is by just saying he is half of me, better or otherwise.
But he is. He most definitely is the better one of us. Even though he’s a whole person, not some weird half person.
But that’s enough of me being sweet. I might have to go do shots of Old Fitz to get my edge back after that. But before shots, you should know that if I ever run away and join the circus, I would like to do this.
I should probably work on my crippling fear of heights. And maybe lay off the Old Fitz. Though it would probably help with the heights.