Be Mine,
Valentine!

2/8/2001

I should have kept my mouth shut. After all, what's the big deal about Wonder Man breaking into hives, ushering me out of the uptown negligee store, and flattening three old ladies in the mall on his dash to the parking lot for air? I shouldn't have whined and carried on when our next stop was the auto parts store so he could regain composure vis-ˆ-vis fuel injectors, torque converters, and the smell of all-season white-walls. (Aromatherapy has nothing on my man!) But, I had to open my big mouth. Just an innocent crack about more fire from his pickup spark plugs than in our love life. I mean, it's not like I really meant it. It's just that he got nervous and tore me away from that store right at the moment I was eyeing a darling cotton bathrobe. Well, sort of a bathrobe. It was a Valentine's Day special.

My little wise-crack must have hit home, because Wonder Man, who I shall now refer to as V-Man (Valentine-Man), turned February 14th into one enchanted evening. Except maybe endangered evening might better describe...

It all began with my evening bath, which V-Man insisted on preparing. How touched I was when he presented me with that very bathrobe! "Put it on!" he said, with the obvious pride of one-who-remembered. I put it on. It sure was little. V-Man didn't care. He escorted me to the tub, into which he'd liberally poured olive oil, having read that olive oil softens skin. Our olive oil is laced with garlic. I slipped, and landed--robe and all--on my...um.

"Not to worry, my Dear," cooed V-Man, as he lit a candle for my bath experience. Now, I usually donÕt mind citronella, but it needs a different setting, know what I mean? So I'm sitting there feeling like pizza-to-go when beaming V-Man reappears with HOT chocolate. I burned my tongue. And sneezed. All the little marshmallows hit the oil slick and skidded to my feet. I looked like an Indian deity. Give me a real bathrobe and I'd rule the world. One marshmallow landed right on top of the candle. Suddenly I was Campfire Girl. I expected him to show up with hot dogs and watermelon.

"I'm coming, Dearest" he sang, as he approached me with my little cotton robe. Which he just dried. On high setting. Once it was on I looked like the Incredible Hulk on a bad hair day. Did this bother V-Man? Hah! Not wanting to ruin his next surprise, he blindfolded me with one of his hankies. I smiled feebly, knowing, of course, what his hankies are normally used for. I was terrified at what was in store. He ran to answer the phone. I slammed into a wall.

Into the bedroom, propped on pillows, he left the blindfold until he placed earphones on my head. In his defense, he didn't know the volume control on my Walkman was broken in a permanent HIGHEST DECIBEL DESIGNED TO WAKE THE DEAD range. "Is that too loud?" he cooed, as John Denver and Placido Domingo blasted a love song into my brain, permanently restructuring every beta, gamma, and theta molecule in my body. My eyebrows stood at attention, my teeth snapped shut, and my toes curled.

"Is everything okay, Lovey? You stay there, IÕll be right back!" He was swinging on a cloud. I heard the refrigerator door open and close. Suddenly there was V-Man, holding our bottle of Canola oil. "Time for a massage!" said Mr. Fingers-Of-Steel. I grabbed the mattress for security. Blindfold gone, I watched the bottle tip, the oil fly through the air and land right on my...um. Before I could scream he tuck a big piece of chocolate in my mouth--the kind that's the size of a toaster and is filled with thick goo. "Wait till you see whatÕs in store!" he boasted, as he methodically separated every ligament and vertebra in my back. I glanced sideways toward the night stand and saw cotton balls, nail file and red polish. This was scary. I had to act fast. There had to be something I could do. "Thay," I said, trying to keep chocolate drool confined to my chin, "did I haphen to menthon my car woo'nt thtart thith (slurp) morninng?"