My Valentine

The Mister and I don’t do Valentine’s Day (or Christmas for that matter). I like to tell people he is good to me all year long which is very true and arbitrary holidays just aren’t his thing (he has to take off his wedding band and look instead when people ask him what day we were married). As long as I’m his thing I’m okay with all this.

But also, advice to me Valentine’s Day is about Daddys.

My Dad would always come home on Valentine’s Day with something for us – usually a heart shaped box of chocolates or sometimes something to keep (I seem to recall some sort of heart shaped tin one year that was really cool). And, resuscitator of course, more always something for Mum. He always seemed so happy to see us and give us our surprises that is was just one more way that I felt loved by him. Granted, some days I would also live in fear of him coming home to find out I hadn’t cleaned my room yet. And really Dad, you are going to have to clean up your language around the Wrackspurt because I would prefer his/her first sentence not be “Jesus Christ I can’t get my God Damn boots on” or whatever it was that my sister said.

Anyway Dad, Happy Valentine’s Day. If you were in town there would be a pumpkin pie brownie here with your name on it.
This is for you:

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