Valentine



Today, in this part of the world, is Valentine's Day, a day where us men are supposed to tuck in our shirts, comb our hair, and try to act like gentlemen for at least 24 hours, extending the good mannerisms to the person in our lives who loves us, takes care of us, forgives us when we scream at the TV while playing Xbox, or picks up a book and silently settles in when we tune into "Jaws" for the 547th time on cable.

I'm very lucky to have fallen in love and gotten married to my wife. Honest. She, above anyone, has made me understand the gravity behind the words "I love you," and how those three little words can shake the foundations of being human. I know I have shared this sentiment before, but once in a while (it should be more often) I get struck by the overwhelming epiphanal waves of "yes, this person loves me." I will always have this person in my corner as long as I make sure to cherish her and care for her and be there for her. And while I have no doubt that Valentine's Day is an invented holiday for the candy-and-card cabals, it's also serves as a much needed check-in with your lover, your spouse, your biggest supporter, your true love. This is a day to be together, to remind each other that you love one another. It's ideal that it happens during the dreariness of winter, when you both can generate a little more warmth to tide you both over for spring.

Tonight, my wife and I are having dinner out for the creamy/spicy combo of indian, with a quick little dessert at a very dangerous gourmet grocery store. We already exchanged our gifts, impatient critters we are. Like millions of couples tonight, we'll be together, remembering that special calculus that brought us here.

And for us, it's a bit of a bonus. Our shirts are in town for the occasion. Seems more than one miracle can happen on Valentine's Day.