Nothing Says "I Love You" Like . . .

Grade school. Every February. The teacher handed out white paper lunch sacks and red construction paper and doilies. I got most excited about using the paste. It came in a tub with a plastic stick in the lid for spreading the sticky stuff (or for licking, in my case. The paste had a pleasing peppermint-ish taste that I couldn’t resist. What a great dual function school supply– an adhesive and a snack. Score!) Once I had made my sack as pink and red and heart-covered as possible (and cleaned the paste stick thoroughly with my tongue) I taped it on the front of my desk and the waiting began.

During the week leading up to Valentine’s Day the doily-enhanced “mailbox” filled up with cards and treats from my classmates. The torture became acute as I wondered who put the box of conversation hearts in my sack. A BOY?!? Finally February 14th arrived along with a room mother in cat’s-eye glasses bearing a tray of pink frosted sugar cookies. We tore into our mailboxes and began the process of analyzing the cards, reading them carefully for each delicate nuance. The conversation hearts came from suck-up Andrea. What a let-down. Most of the boys gave out dumb Hot Wheels and Batman Valentines with messages like “You’re on track, Valentine” or “Biff, Pow, Zap—you knock me out.”L-A-M-E. But Bobby T. gave me a Lancelot Link, Secret Chimp Valentine that said “I go bananas for you.” That can only mean one thing. Nothing says “I love you” like a chimpanzee in a three-piece suit with a briefcase in one hand and a banana in the other, right? Aah, romance.

These days, I confess, Valentine’s Day does nothing for me. Don’t get me wrong, I consider myself a true romantic. I just don’t pine for diamonds or long-stemmed roses or perfume. (A little high quality dark chocolate always sits well, though.) Those things seem trifling, flimsy even, next to the year-round-real-life-doily-free Valentines that Bob fills my life with. I recognize them for what they are– “I go bananas for you” materialized. Like Bob buckling my ski boots when my left hand refuses to cooperate then taking the blue square runs instead of the black diamonds so that he can warm my hands on the lift and ski just behind me to rescue me when my Parkinson’s wins and I fall. Or when he stands at the kitchen sink during “crunch time” for a dinner party, washing dishes in the wake of hurricane Jerie, wiping the counters clean just as the doorbell rings. Dancing with me in the living room. Laughing with me late at night or just letting me cry. Back scratches and checking the air in my tires and taking down the Christmas tree. Nothing says I love you like work and compromise and playing Scrabble three nights in row and cleaning up after four kids who have stomach flu. Romance indeed. No Valentine that money can buy could top it. Unless maybe Bob could find a tub of that paste . . .

In your world “Nothing says I love you like . . .”? What would your ideal Valentine be?

This post originally appeared on The Peanut Gallery Speaks. You can follow the comment thread there.

http://www.peanutgalleryspeaks.com/2011/02/nothing-says-i-love-you-like/