Valentines Schmalentine: A Writer And True Wuv
I’ve admitted to being a terrible person. It’s okay, I really like me. Being me, finding new peeps is a TV marathon of The Jersey Shore. Imagine my panic when my hair goddess decided to take a sabbatical to spend more time with her kids.
I knew it was coming. She’s also one of my closest friends. Nine years my hair goddess and I have been arguing over bangs. You should know, the bangs in some of my photos I cut on the sly without her permission.
This may not be a big deal for some of your male types, but for women losing a long term hair goddess is equal to a global pandemic. I also have crazy hair, two impossible cowlicks, waves, and a deep widow’s peak. Finding a new hair goddess is worse than blind speed dating.
Never mind the possible disaster of a haircut, there’s so much chit chat. I dove into the pool and tried a new stylist. Let the inane and trivial chatter begin….What do you do? Do you have kids? You can’t possibly be that old. Okay, the last one is great to hear, but the rest….oy, poke me in the eye.
Now for the A bomb….do you have special plans for Valentine’s Day? What? My terribleness is something I have in common with The Beard. We’re not much for holidays. I don’t enjoy flowers. He isn’t one for ceremony and can’t keep a secret to save his life. He typically buys me tech or concrete which suits me fine. He buys himself the things he wishes for because I wouldn’t have any idea what to get for him.
Do we have any special plans? Nope. I suppose it’s way too corny to say every day is Valentine’s Day. I don’t think it would be a lie. We have our romantic moments. I’d venture to guess, as in many solid relationships, we have more ‘successfully dealing with shite’ moments which are more significant.
No exchanging of Valentines in our house. I tell him frequently my love is symbolically proven by the fact he draws breath in the morning after snoring all night. Not smothering someone is a good way to show your devotion.
He shows his love by not really meaning no when I say, “Hey, let’s foster these dogs.” He replies, “Foster my ass, if those dogs come to this house, you’ll never give them up.”
Here’s the deal, he sees the better person I can be and does everything in his power to support my process. I’ve been floating the last few weeks on euphoric joy for the fabulous life I have. I’m writing. I’m healthy. I’m surrounded by artists, family, and friends who support my career. The Beard focuses on my writing career daily.
I know the Beard struggles in his own job. He experiences his own frustrations. I do what I can to support him. Coffee in the mornings, making sure he has his boxed wine (wince), keeping him dressed for public viewing and nagging him about his health. I also provide myriad opportunities for him to roll his eyes.
Even if he would not help me throw a dead body out of an airplane, it works for us despite his clean cut, tech geek and my unconventional, tattooed harridan.
True wuv is undeniable.