A Heart's True Color

I was pretty disgusted with Love. In fact, we weren't even on speaking terms anymore. Nevertheless, every Friday night I went out anyway, just to socialize a bit and get away from the desk.

This was one of those typical, discouraging Friday nights. It was quite late, and a rather large man had just finished regaling me with talk of his "forty acre spread outside of Dallas." I wasn't sure if he was talking about a ranch or his waistline. Either way, I found an excuse to escape to another part of the nightclub, telling myself that this would at least make good material for a satirical expose' on the dark underbelly of today's dating scene. Like we needed more underbelly.

It wasn't long before another man approached me and out of the blue began to chatter on about the wonderful, loving personality of the common pit bull.

"I was recently attacked by pit bulls," I warned. "They nearly killed my dog."

"You just don't understand them," he countered, not missing a beat, but completely missing my warning signs. Here we go, I thought. He's just as misunderstood as his beloved pit bulls, yet the fault belongs to everyone but him. Maybe they'll eat him in his sleep.

"I think I understood these pits pretty well," I growled. "They had my dog by the jugular." He continued on, oblivious to the disconnect. This guy needed to be in a story. Whether it was in the How NOT to Meet Women handbook, or in a police report after I slugged him for being a complete moron, either way he was destined to be put down on paper.

"Excuse me, are you with him?" A cowboy hat interrupted the pit bull monologue. The hat belonged to the best looking guy in the place, and now he had suddenly turned humble in my presence, his hat tipping forward in a sort of cowboy curtsey. Thinking this might be some sort of set up, I glanced about for a hidden camera. The pit bull lecturer was still jabbering.

"Oh hell, no!" I replied. "I am NOT with him!" The Hat dipped down, his shoulders shaking at my joke. He caught that quip pretty quickly, a sign of wit and smarts. Perhaps all was not lost.

"Would you like to dance?" The Hat asked.

"Where were you an hour ago?" The Hat tipped forward again, laughing. I had known him for all of ten seconds and already I was nagging him. They say sometimes when you meet the right person, you know it right away. We headed for the dance floor.

As we danced, an odd feeling came over me. This was nice. This might work, I thought. That was unexpected and made me a bit dizzy.

Most men I meet spend the bulk of their time building themselves up, to the point where they can't maintain their own lofty image, only to slink off to some cave to escape my wrath. Not the Hat.

"I have a two-year-old," he warned, much like someone would mention owning a sawed-off shotgun. He waited, unblinking, for me to squirm.

"I have two tween boys," I countered, knowing I was outgunned by the two-year-old, but wanting to show force anyway.

"I smoke and drink," his eyes narrowed and one eyebrow went up. Now he was double-dog daring me.

"I......don't," I had him on this one. He smiled.

We were both at the point in our lives where we didn't want to expend one bit of effort on something that didn't have a chance. So we parried and circled each other, throwing out any frightening bits of our lives that might send the other scurrying down the road. Better to know sooner than later, after wasting time and heartbeats. It was tough love in the form of full-frontal truth. And it worked. We've been together ever since.

While I don't recommend blabbing your biggest issues to every possible date you meet, I do suggest losing the fluff, the fibs, the phony. It's such an effort, and it's not worth it. It's just not... you.

I have an idea. That doesn't occur too often, so perhaps you should listen. It's kind of a romantic idea, which is even rarer, so anyway, you've been warned...

Valentine's Day is here. If you've been successful in love, why not plant a heart where you met your sweetheart? Just a red piece of paper, perhaps taped to the very spot you met. You could put your names on it, or the date you met, or a little inspirational note, or something like "On this spot two hearts met." Or nothing at all.

On the flip side, if you met someone, fell in love, and they took your forty acre spread and fed it to their pit bulls, you could place a black heart on the site. In parts of Europe, they have 'Black Spot' areas, featuring little monuments warning drivers that someone died there in an accident. It's an effective, sobering reminder. Why not do the same for misguided love? You could write something like "On this spot, two hearts met, fell in love, and bugged the hell out of each other for 2 years and 238 days." Who knows, it might make the next person think twice.

When you meet your Hat, let me know. Let the world know, and put a red heart on the spot. Love may be blind sometimes, but it doesn't have to be invisible. Give hope to those who are still wading through the fakes and the phonies, and paint the town red. At least for the day.

Beyond Chocolate and Roses

I have never been a fan of Valentine's Day. Yes, I'm sure it's fun for a few googly-eyed lovebirds, but for most people it's a time of tremendous pressure. Guys, for instance, are obligated to get something bigger and better than last year, following a gifting rulebook that often makes their eyes bleed. For example:

1) no blenders

2) no cordless drills

3) no lingerie that makes her look fat

4) no beer

5) no drive-through

6) if it's jewelry it has to be at least 20-carat gold and no less than 2 carats in weight because that's what Mary Jane Bismarck next door got last year so it has to be bigger and better or else are you listening to me why are your eyes bleeding?

7) keep the receipt

Men are under such stress that often they sit staring at the tv for weeks, watching the last vestiges of football season fade to black, frozen until the last possible minute before they rush out and buy the first box of chocolate-covered cherries they see.

Women worry mostly about finding that dang receipt before it goes through the wash and they're stuck forever with that lousy gift of love.

I once knew a very snugly couple who had been living together for about 5 years. She kept hinting to her beau, we'll call him 'Pookie' since that's what she called him, that she wanted to make it permanent. One year, just before Valentine's Day, he asked her if she preferred gold or platinum. She was thrilled, telling everyone that Pookie was finally going to 'pop' the question. Instead, Pookie proudly presented her with a lovely platinum blender. So she could make her widdle Pookie his energy shakes. I don't know what happened to them after that, since she made us all leave, then locked the door. But I think she found a new use for the blender. We never saw Pookie again, but her rose garden looked fabulous.

A very stressful situation all-around for people in relationships as well as those without. Singles, on the other hand, have to worry about the obligatory feeling of soulful loneliness, which can be entertaining in the proper setting, such as with a beer and a country song. However, a lesser-known, yet more ominous threat lies in the form of the sneak-attack date. This is when someone asks you out right before Valentine's Day so they have a date for Valentine's Day.

A sneak-attack date is usually committed by someone who suspects that you're looking forward to being alone with a beer and a sad country song and wants to ruin your plans. Somehow they make it sound like no one should be alone on Valentine's Day, that it's your civic duty to go out with them. This is part of the reason that when Ground Hog Day hits, I hide, hoping to avoid a sneak-attack date. There are many things worse than being alone on Valentine's Day. A date like that is one of them.

As a grown-up, Valentine's Day is the closest I get to prom date jitters. Flashback to my 16th birthday. A huge gift box. I open it and out spills a puff of red and white lace and chiffon. "What is it?" I ask. I was hoping for a new saddle blanket. This is NOT a saddle blanket.

"It's a dress," my mother replies excitedly. I wear jeans and flannel shirts. Nothing against dresses, but they tend to get caught in the double clutch on the tractor.

"A what?" I ask, looking for the receipt.

"A PROM dress," she clarifies right before I pass out. I had never even gone out on a date. I had been asked out, but since I never knew what to do when they asked, I usually just stared back at them until they withered away. That didn't go over well, and now I had a big stupid fluffy dress and a mother fully expecting me to grow breasts and social skills in two months. Cupid, shoot me now.

So how do we turn this carnal carnival around? How do we make it less about forced gifting and more about love? Why not think outside the box of chocolates?

Valentine's Day isn't just for lovers, it's for the loved. We have quite a few service men and women who could use some thoughts and thanks. A single white carnation, a thank-you note, a hug, an email....anything. So get off your butt and go love somebody. Just not me. I'll be at the barn.