Picture it, Dallas, Texas… 2011… Its February and the weather is… about 70 degrees?  It’s Valentine’s Day.  I start the day off with a pep in my step.  Today is about love… the love you have, the love you hope for, the love you lost, the love you found.  It’s a day to celebrate even when you feel like you are all out of love, and so lost without you.  I knew you were right, believing for so long… sorry I spaced out for a second and got distracted by Air Supply. 

Basically I have started my day with pep in my step.  I am out the door by 6:15 am and headed to a great day selling soft drinks to America’s youth.  I stop at 7-11 and treat myself to one of their delicious coffee beverages.  Free and clear all the way to work.  Before I start my day, I stop and post a witty Happy VD post to all my facebook friends.  They all chuckle and smile as they read it. 

And as my day continues, it starts to spiral away from me… my big plans of getting it all done by arriving early is foiled by emails and voicemails… and meetings.  Alas, the work day concludes on a high note of laughter at a co-worker’s expense.  All in all, a good Valentine’s Day.  In fact, I am not even that bothered by heading home to continue working just joined by Family Guy and a big glass of Maker’s Mark.

I arrive home on this unusually warm Valentine’s night at 7:30 after a long 12 hour workday.  The house and driveway are dark.  The garbage can on the curb.  My porch light has burnt out at some point during the day.  Apparently light bulbs burn out if you leave them on for 24 hours a day.  I gather my bags and step toward the house.  My heel sinks into the yard and I stumble a bit but catch myself.  As I climb the little stairs to my porch, I notice there is a package on my doorstep.

Most sane people in this situation would simply accept that something had been delivered.  But I am not most sane people.  I immediately think… Bomb. Because I am, obviously a terrorist target.

As I juggle my bags (which includes a stylish Artsy bag) and stoop to pick said package… I revise my thinking…

Oh, Big Sara’s been internet shopping again. I wonder what wonderful home improvement item, my sweet mother has ordered and utilized the free shipping to have delivered to my house… as opposed to actually driving past George Bush to come visit me. 

As I enter my dark house, hands full I drop the package into my living room chair (a Christmas gift from Big Sara that was, in fact, delivered.) Another thought slowly creeps into my head. What if it IS a bomb?  I mean, I know that I didn’t order anything. I see the name on the address label: SHERI.

Christ, it’s a bomb. I am gonna get blown up on Valentine’s day. Then I see the return address.  Its a name I know, almost as well as my own.  And I remember that a friend had called a few days ago to confirm my address.  She wanted to return some books she had borrowed. I am thrilled to have my books back and to have a book shelf on which to place them.

As I open the package another thought creeps into my head. Ewww, boy I bet she put in a special book for me to read.  That would be just like her.  And she is always so cute… there will be a sweet card and I bet a picture of her handsome son.  So I tear into the package with gusto, ripping my perfectly manicured pinky nail right off.

No note, no specially selected book, no photos… just a bunch of used books, and some styrofoam peanuts. 

Happy Effing Valentines Day to me!


 Post Script

I recap this experience to my sweet friend via text… my phone immediately rings and she says “Don’t tell anyone in Charity League that I did that.  So I’ve posted this to my blog.