Valentine's Month: Rekindling for the Burned Out (Monday)

I'll be honest... Before I met my husband, I hated Cupid's guts. Valentine's Day to me was just another one of those dopy holidays that made people with nobody feel crappy and people with somebody feel obligated to spend too much money for no apparent reason., (if you don't know them, you probably should... Their site has everything infertile and fertile people alike need to know about infertility today)... They have an article on their site this week about reconnecting with your partner during Valentine's Day. It's called: "What's the point of you touching my woo-hoo when I'm not ovulating? Get off of me you sweaty son of a.... There's a 'Real Housewives of Beverly Hills' marathon on and somehow your 22 inch ass is blocking the 32 inch screen."  

Okay, so that may have been my title.  I never said I wasn't immature. I think their title is:  "How is infertility affecting your sexuality?" And there are segments which discuss other aspects of your relationship. 

From the time I met my husband, Valentine's Day became a pretty big deal. Yes, we're romantic: Flowers, candy, lingerie I have no business wearing and with each passing year I have less and less business wearing...

But it's also a big deal for us because my husband is precisely nine days older than I. And Valentine's Day, as luck would have it, falls smack dab in between our two birthdays. Sometimes I wonder if we only stay together because, if we ever broke up, we'd have to find separate mental institutions to spend February in.  I can just picture each of us sequestered under the sheets in the dark room, peering out only long enough to grab the paper cup with the pill in it and to ask the nurse: "Is it March yet? Please tell me it's March." 

I really don't give a damn if most people celebrate Valentine's Day or not. Like the people who get engaged on Valentine's Day (and somehow she never saw it coming...go figure) or married on Valentine's Day (imaginative). But I do think Valentine's Day should be special for infertile couples.

First of all, a big plus about the idiotic day is: There's not much you have to avoid. There's really nothing about the day that involves kids. You don't have to see kids. You don't have to see photos of kids. You don't have to celebrate at a place that allows kids. In fact, people who have kids, if they're smart, shove them over to somebody else's house and, for four or five hours, pretend they don't exist. (Just don't be a dumbass and let it be YOUR house.) 

So Valentine's Day to me, is a fantastic excuse for couples dealing with infertility BS to put it all aside and rekindle, recuddle, renew, reconnect, recanoodle (did someone just call me retarded?)... 

Because, well, I don't play poker, but even I know that an arrow in the heart beats a syringe in the ass any day. 

Screw spending the day cherishing your Valentine. Spend the whole month. If you got a good one over there warming the other side of the bed--celebrate it.

That's what we'll be discussing this week: Valentines-the good, the bad, and the ugly... from sucko Valentine's Day experiences to friends who had a Valentine who did unforgivable things on Valentine's Day whom she of course not only forgave but married.

So, today, I say: Go hand in hand with your honey to a museum exhibit dedicated to Martin Luther King Jr.... There you go... You got Valentine's Month and Black History Month covered in one cheap date.

And if you have a sec: Please subscribe to this blog. It's free and you'll get some (I hope) humorous insider info and some deals down the line...   

Listen I gotta go. I somehow got tangled up in my Valentine's Day negligee.  My husband can't get me out of it. I can't get me out of it. Geez I hope we can do something with scissors. It's really going to kill the mood if the fire department has to come with the jaws of life.... Not to mention that I'd really hate guys that look like that to see me looking like this.  Charlotte hanging herself in her own fricken red web.

I'll talk with ya again tomorrow.