Memoirs of a Fat Girl

Happy Valentine’s Day! One day late.

From the jist of my previous post on the matter, you all know I’m not insane on Valentine’s Day. At least I wasn’t up until now, and to be honest I still so have issues with it. Flower prices go up, the country mice flock to the city and steal the great parking spots, and being in this part of the world, the weather usually sucks.

But like I said, this was my first Valentine’s Day with Sandy, or at least the first as his girlfriend (still giggling, finding it insane, etc. etc.), and I wanted to make it memorable. So, after much thought on the matter, I’d decided on something more off-the-hook. All I would need was Joey, some gas in the tank, a blindfold for Sandy, and my own corny imagination. I couldn’t wait to surprise him.

On the other hand, Sandy had manufactured his own brand of special: reservations at a top notch steak house. We love steak, and I’d never been to this place, an establishment that I’d heard him raving over for months. He was excited about that too, and had decided to surprise me.

Alas, the surprise never came. Not for me, not for him. The night before Valentine’s Day, there was a major storm that blanketed the city in three feet of snow. While the roads were clear enough to make the drive to his place 50 minutes instead of the usual 25, there was more catastrophe: Sandy had the flu.

He felt really bad, but I thought his sniffly self sounded really cute on the phone. The reservations were canceled and I didn’t mine one bit. He can surprise me with steak some other time, and I can save the blindfolding & kidnapping for a future date.

(Dirty! But in reality it’s totally innocent, promise. I’ll keep you updated)

So, Sandy and I spent our first couply Valentine’s Day making soup. Soup is bowl food, soul food, feel better all around food. Great for colds & flu, and just what he needed. He whipped up a pot of vegetable turkey beef, served with thin noodles and wild rice; I made coconut red lentil soup with snow peas, mushrooms and baby corn. The red curry paste in the base gave it some extra kick.

He poured us some wine and we lounged on the couch with our bowls, watching Sopranos reruns before going to bed. We fell asleep holding hands.

And, that was it. When you look at it through an outside window, it wasn’t all that spectacular. But then, when you love someone and they love you back, every day is Valentine’s Day, no?

Just maybe there were some other surprises, too. When I got to his house and walked into the kitchen. There was a table full of goodies just for me: Hershey’s Kisses, truffles, a Snoopy card, and a dozen long-stem, russet coloured roses. He’d even rewrapped the roses himself, because he wasn’t satisfied with the florist’s patchwork.

As for my surprise to Sandy, it might have had something to do with the lacy red stuff underneath my jeans and black Ramones blouse.

But the biggest surprise of all wasn’t expected, or store bought. It came when I was slicing some snow peas and talking about Going the Mile.

That’s our code phrase for marriage. We don’t say, “You know, if you and I get married someday,” we say, “You know, if we go the mile…” and etc.

I don’t remember the point I was making, but I started it out with, “You know Ace, if we go the mile…”

To which he interrupted, over from where he was stirring his soup, “Cheech, when are you going to stop with the If we go the mile, and start saying When?”

It’s safe to say I almost sliced my thumb clean off.

It’s safer to say I gave him a huge hug and kiss, flu or no flu.

And it’s the safest thing of all to say that my heart, full of gladness, is bursting. One day, some day, this man wants to marry me.

Fancy that.