Author’s Note: Shawna normally hates it when I mention her here, but I have a feeling she’ll appreciate this one.Â In fact, I have a feeling I’ll have to sleep on the couch for the next month if I don’t tell this story.
I’m a lucky guy.Â I know this.Â I have the perfect girlfriend in Shawna.Â She hates the idea of Valentine’s Day, Sweetest Day, marriage, and she enjoys a lap dance from semi-nude women every now and then.Â Every year, I look forward to treating Valentine’s Day like any other day.Â Last night should have involved crashing and watching some TV after a few hours of writing.
But I screwed that up.
Well, maybe it wasn’t just me.Â After all, the older sister of one of my best friends (yes, YOU) sent me a myspace message a few weeks ago asking what I was doing for Shawna on Valentine’s Day, with the addendum that “‘Nothing’ is not an acceptable answer.”Â Everybody loves Valentine’s Day, and I should at least put forth an effort and blah, blah, blah.Â Okay, she probably didn’t go on that long, but I’m trying to defend myself here!
So yesterday morning I really start to doubt myself.Â I should make an effort, right?Â Sure, I’m the perfect boyfriend who sleeps in the spare bedroom everytime I get a cough, but maybe that’s not enough.Â So, I ask Shawna if she wants to go out for Italian food.Â She loves the idea, since we haven’t gone out for Italian in quite a while.Â We decide to go to the little place around the corner.Â Can’t be too crowded, right?Â We’ve only known one other person who’s ever eaten there.
See?Â That’s a dumb idea!
So we show up and the place is packed like a cat house on dollar handjob night.Â After a few moments, I manage to squeeze my way up to the hostess and request a table for two.
I turn to Shawna, she says, “Sure.”
“Okay.Â Put us on the list.”
I sit next to Shawna in the last pair of seats in the waiting area, right next to the door.Â Everytime somebody enters, we get a blast of arctic air.Â When special folks like Old Man with Walker and Excitable Nine-Year-Old Who Outran Her Parents show up, we get a prolongedÂ wind that damn-near freezes us solid.Â Eventually, we move into the bar area, where we order hot tea before standing underneath the television that’s blaring Fox News.
Around this time I look at my receipt for the tea and realize we’ve already been waiting our 45 minutes.Â I head to the front to check on the list, but it’s too crowded to reach the hostess.Â I report back to Shawna (who’s sharpening a knife for some reason), then try to check again.Â There’s one party of two left to go before it’s our turn.Â I report back to Shawna, and she puts the knife away for the time being.
She’s eyeing the knife again when we finally leave 45 minutes later, our name still uncalled.Â We go to the grocery store, and I pay for Shawna’s Hot Pockets, which she will eat instead of fine Italian Food for her Valentine’s Day.Â I apologize for the fortieth time and wonder if the frozen pizza I’m buying myself will kill me if I try to eat it in one bite.
So remember, guys.Â If you have the perfect girlfriend, don’t fuck it up.Â Take her to a strip club for a lapdance or cook her a nice dinner at home.Â Leave Valentine’s Day to the deluded and silly.Â They started it anyway.
Sorry, Shawna!Â Italian tonight?