Valentine's Day: a Hallmark Conspiracy

Or so I told my wife before we got married. How stupid is it, I asked, that society has to tell men to love their women. Aren't we capable of being romantic on our own, without a conspiracy of companies set to make big bucks off the notion?

What's next? Mother's Day?

God bless her, she took it in stride. I'm not sure she believed me, but she just nodded her head and gave me her best June-Cleaver-like response: "Whatever you say, dear."

But after eight years of marriage, I've realized I'm fighting a losing battle. (I learn quickly, wouldn't you say?) Don't tell my wife -- I still maintain the opposition as a matter off principle -- but I know it's a hopeless endeavor. Hallmark isn't going away. Area florists are still going to rake in a mint by selling roses today. Mr. Hershey and his confectionery compatriots will continue to tease our tastebuds with their finest chocolat.

And last year, I ruined any credible opposition I might have established -- I bought my wife a few hours at a spa. I was reminded of that when I read Brian's story this morning about his gift to the Fearless Redhead.

(As an aside, he's a much smarter man than me. Long before I knew my wife, I dated a girl who worked for a florist, and I never bought her flowers because she was always bringing them home from the shop. Not smart. As Brian said, his wife -- a spa employee -- could trade for spa services any time, "But I realized, if I pay for it, it would be more special." Doh!)

Now, don't get the idea that I'm sending the missus to the spa every year. My task now is to do something pretty nice often enough (both on Feb. 14 and at other times throughout the year) that I can get away with a card on V-day at other times.

But maybe Valentine's Day isn't so bad after all.

(I love you, honey!)