One Day a Year, I'm Not Myself... Probably a Good Thing

I revel in the the extra bit of hokey romance on Valentine's Day. I have friends who think candy hearts and flowers are a waste of money. I like them. I look forward to them. And it's the only "holiday" every year that I hope falls on a weekday. I like to see the looks on the faces of my co-workers--all women-- when my bouquet is delivered. Sometimes I see the delivery guy coming and duck into the back of the office just so he can ask several people: "Lori Fox?" "Are you Lori Fox?" "These are for Lori Fox." And if by some bad fortune, he discreetly sneaks in when I'm the only one around, my flowers become my appendage: I carry them around the whole day like I'm expecting a flash mob beauty pageant to break out at any moment. So call it true love or vengeance for having had one too many pathetic Valentine's Days in my bachelorette past, but I love the day.... which is weird... because, well, how do I say this?

Usually... I'm the man in the relationship...

And I mean that in all the worst possible ways.

I'd like to tell you that I mean that in the most old fashioned, chauvinistic stereotype: I'm in charge in my household. What I say goes. My husband doesn't even get a vote in anything. If I want to go see the ballet, we're going to the ballet and that's final. Alas, no. Neither of us is in charge in our house which means we live in chaos. We probably should hire someone to take charge.

All of the negative assumptions associated with living with a man apply to me.

1) A full weekend to me only requires two elements: Snacks and TV sports.

2) If we had any sort of window coverings on the majority of our windows, I'd happily parade around in my underwear on a regularly basis. Now I only do it occasionally.

3) I regularly use profanities as the subject, verb and direct object of a sentence.

4) I see no reason why I should cook.

5) If I ever have my handwriting analyzed, it may be determined it's a female's handwriting, but not that of a female human being.

6) I see no reason why I should do laundry.

7) I don't drink directly out of a milk container, although I'm fine with using the bathtub spigot as a water fountain.

8) I decided to finally clean the floor of my car the other day. I gave up at sundown because I was afraid to touch anything I couldn't see first. I estimate that I'm still at least a tier or two away from the floor mat. (When did I ever eat shredded wheat?)

9) My husband may have an array of bodily noises in his repertoire, but it takes two to make a concert.

And, best/worst of all:

10) I scratch whatever wherever.

(Honey, are you reading this? The most important part of this post is: I just told everyone how well you do on Valentine's Day. You wouldn't want to publicly embarrass yourself by falling short this year would you?)