Guess I Gotta Show Some Self-Love

Apologies everyone - I'm going to do some swearing here.

So apparently being married to me means that you can tell me I'm a "mean, nasty bitch", say "fuck you, shut the fuck up" two days before Valentine's Day, and come the evening of the 14th, you will receive a thoughtful card as well as a (reheated) steak dinner, along with a freshly-purchased Canadian lobster tail.  (I mean, Canadian lobster, people).  Toppings for your steak will be caramelized onions, Marsala mushrooms and blue cheese crumbles.  Oh, and a note in your lunch with a cutesy poem, you'll get that too.  And a lunch I made for you.  And breakfast.  And my dignity.

Delicious.

This morning I debated over the two phrases we hear in Al Anon - "Let it begin with me" and "Don't be a doormat."  I think what I ended up with was "Let it begin with doormat."

I wasn't expecting anything from my husband this year for Valentine's considering his behavior, but damn it stung not to get a card, flowers, even a verbal "Happy Valentine's Day" for the first time in our relationship.  As in ever.  And it was totally on purpose.  Didn't matter that I've done what I've done for him, nope.  He purposely did not get me anything this year and it was to make a point.

He loved his dinner (of course - this Mean Nasty Bitch can cook) and mmm'd and ahh'd over almost every bite.  He came down to see what was smelling so good, smiled and made small talk about our pets.  And I smiled and joked back, all the while thinking, "What the hell am I still doing in this kitchen right now?  You are such a selfish, spiteful asshole."  Then I added another two tablespoons of butter to his onions.

If you don't love yourself, the saying goes, how can you expect anyone else to love you?  We can substitute "respect" in that phrase also.

I remember one of our first Valentine's Days, when I was in college and he lived nearby.  I had a final the next day in my most challenging class, so we wouldn't be able to see each other that night.  When I got home from school, there was a single red rose in my mailbox and a note - he had driven 30 miles and back in what had to have been disgustingly awful traffic, but he just wanted to do something for me.  Wanted to.  DO something.  Dammit.


Shopping for his card this year, I read through the sentiments and nothing seemed to fit.  It went something like this:

"To The Man I Love -
You are my solace and my shelter, my safe place from the world that -"  Nope.

"I love to think about all the ways you've brought happiness to my life..."  But it doesn't take very long, and then I end up bored and sad.  Maybe we need to put a "would" in front of "love".

"I love how much I like you."   Hmm.  That must be a nice feeling.

"You got the honey, I got the bees, You got the mac, I got the cheese."  I have no idea what the hell this means.  Unless it's for a beekeeper's wife.  I do like mac and cheese though.  Next.

"For My Wonderful Guy."  Yeah he's over there, behind you.  The neutered one with four legs and whiskers.  Just put it there next to him.  Thanks.

"Lifemate, Laughmate, Soulmate."  Ugh.  Mentally I'm already reaching for more potato chips.  Oooh...chips.  I should get some chips.

"Whooooo's The Sweetest?"  Only if it says "ME!" on the inside...Ah, no such luck.

"What we have is so good that I can't get enough of you."  Actually I'm full, but thanks.

"We laugh.  We Flirt.  We Love."   Oh no.  We totally.  Do not.

"Your kind and loving spirit"...appears to be on sabbatical.


I contemplated getting a card in Spanish before I finally settled for the one that read "Valentine's Day isn't a big deal to me" (open) "But you are!"  Okay.  That's as true as any of these are going to get.

When my husband was a bit late coming home from work I thought ah, he must have stopped to buy some flowers?  The minutes ticked by.  "Okay, so now he's probably sitting outside thinking of what to write in the card."  But no crinkle of florist cellophane greeted me upon his return.  And when I handed him his card, he took it without looking at me, opening it without expression or a word, as if I had handed him the utility bill.  He thanked me, returned my hug with a flaccid embrace, returned my "I love you", and said the card was cute.

Maybe the perfect card would have read: "Why don't you go fuck yourself and then you can see a movie by yourself?"  He said this to me while I was taking care of my mom post-surgery, a mid-"argument" response to my wish that we were more romantic with each other, went to see movies and had dates like we used to.  Maybe the card could come with fake movie tickets.  "Admit ONE. 'Cause I'm not fucking going, remember?"

At least the seafood guy flirted with me.