It’s Not A Floater

Every year since we got married, it’s been the same thing: my husband forgets Valentine’s Day.

In past years, this has made me mad, sad and exasperated – especially during those early years. He was working long hours, building his company and I was working hard as a stay-at-home mother. It was exhausting. What little time we had together was “family time” and our focus would be on our children. Mommy and daddy became two shipwrecks passing through a sticky playroom. So, on just that one day every year, I wanted him to fuss over me. His forgetfulness of Valentine’s Day felt personal, like he was forgetting me. Ouch!

valentines-day-restaurants-melbourne-flA day or two later, something would trigger his memory (like me throwing his gift on the table saying, “You missed Valentine’s Day, AGAIN!), and he’d go out and buy a huge bouquet of half-price roses. It was a great way to save a few bucks, but not for scoring points. In fact, his peace-offerings usually made me even angrier.

For whatever reason, he simply could not get it into his head that Valentine’s Day is on the same date every year. It’s not a floater, like Thanksgiving, Easter or Passover. It is always February 14th. Always. Maybe it’s genetic. Once, when I invited his mother for Christmas dinner, she asked, “When is it?”

To be fair, there were some years when he knocked it out of the park to make up for the year before. On one of those occasions, he arranged for a neighbor to take our then-toddler son overnight. He booked a supper cruise around Manhattan, followed by a night at the über-posh Peninsula Hotel. The magnificent suite was larger than our apartment. It was glorious. Then there was the time he surprised me by showering our bedroom with rose petals. I will not lie. My very first thought was, “Great. Who is going to clean this up?” Very romantic, I know.

Am I the only one who sees this as an accident waiting to happen?

As the years rolled by, I took it upon myself to start reminding him. I realized that waiting to see if he’d remember was the same as setting a trap (which is childish and unfair, yet inexplicably tempting). I’d tell him two weeks in advance because the closer it came to the date, the likelier that all the good restaurants would be booked up. However, he’d still wait until the last minute to try to make a reservation, or he’d take me someplace without one and we wouldn’t be able to get a table.

Ok, let’s be honest here for a minute: You and I both know that the worst night to go out for dinner is on Valentine’s Day. The “special” menus are always limited, the food is only marginally good, and the wait staff hustles you in and out because they’ve booked extra seatings to squeeze every last dime out of the busiest night of the year. And it’s February! Do you know how cold it is in New York in February? Who wants to put on a slinky dress and heels to slip and slide down the icy sidewalks of Manhattan? I’d rather be home in my jammies. (Author’s note: do not tell my husband I said that!)

Anyway, now that our son and daughter are older and away at school, we have a lot more time to focus on each other. Every Thursday night is date night, come hell or high water. Rather than making a special effort for each other once a year, we set aside time every week. It’s better that way, wouldn’t you agree?

Are you wondering what we’re doing together for Valentine’s Day this year? Nothing. I’m going dancing with my sister and my niece. My husband and brother-in-law are in Cuba with their father to celebrate his 80th birthday. When my husband booked the trip six months ago, he forgot that February 14th is Valentine’s Day.

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