The truth is: I have always cheated on holidays, especially Valentine's Day. I don't buy cards (won't give Hallmark the satisfaction of my money). I make my own cards and I write my own verse and letters. And I've learned through the years that I can make my woman laugh or cry, or both. All she has to do is look at me . . . and she cries. And I don't buy traditional gifts either. No chocolates. No flowers. The last time I tried that gig, Becky looked at my box of chocolates and said, "You probably picked these up at Walgreens while you were driving home today, didn't you?"
How did she know?
So, this year I'm giving her a heartfelt letter (which I won't publish here) along with another card/gift and a coupon which she can cash in some night when she just has to have ME. I won't have to worry about cashing in the coupon for months, probably, but it helps just knowing the woman is carrying me around in her purse and desiring me while she is teaching 7th graders. And, just in case you are wondering what else is on the slate for the little woman, here's one half of her Valentine.
A Valentine Worth Fifty Bucks
I could give you chocolates, dear
Or flowers by the bunch
But gifts like these you'd say were queer
Since you do no ask for much.
And since you're not expecting, honey,
Words I did not pen
I'll give instead this bit of money:
Two twenties and a ten.
Go buy yourself some under pants
Or if preferred, a bra,
And maybe later we can dance
(or maybe not at all).
Or you could get yourself a meal--
A really nice one, too.
Or maybe later cop a feel
If that's what you'd rather do.
The point, of course, is that I know
Your preference for cash,
So take it, save it, spend it slow . . .
Don't thank me. Have a bash!
Instead of spending on some box
Of sugar, or dry flowers,
I've stashed this money in my socks
For these romantic hours.
No need to thank me. Have a blast!
Invest it if you please.
That's why I'm writing love to last
While kneeling on my knees.
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