"Franz Bestuchev" <franz.bestuchev@gmail.com> wrote in message
news:45hm1fF6o3ioU1@individual.net...

<snipped story>

Every time Jeremy decides to launch into one of his little "romantic
gestures," it's just more hassle, hassle, hassle for me. When is he
going to get the message?

Do you think the people at The Onion would have Jeremy's phone number?

"Franz Bestuchev" <franz.bestuchev@gmail.com> wrote in message
news:45hm1fF6o3ioU1@individual.net...

When I walked through the door last night, red and pink rose petals were
scattered across the vestibule and up the stairs to the bedroom. How
inconsiderate can one husband get? I could have slipped and broken my
neck! Fortunately, the cloying, sickly-sweet odor of roses gave the
petals away, and I was able to spot them before my heel slipped.

Besides that, when the hot air from the wall registers blow them all
around, I'll be the one to spend a couple hours with a vacuum attachment
bending beside the bed and under the dresser and most likely screwing up
my lower back some more.

Welcome to another romantic Valentine's Day at the Elizabeth and Jeremy
Gallo residence! Every year it's the same insensitive disregard all over
again.

Like, couldn't he at least have put a plate under the chocolate he left
on my pillow? Chocolate stains, you know. Doesn't he realize that these
are 400-count percale sheets?

We have a dog, for God's sake, and every responsible dog owner knows
that chocolate is poisonous to dogs. Did Jeremy want to spend an evening
getting Mimosa's stomach pumped? Did he want Mimosa to die?

Sometimes it seems like all he ever thinks about is himself.

Oh, and the lit candles surrounding the bathtub: real nice touch. Hot
wax drips, and eventually hardens, until you have to practically take a
chisel to it to get it off and risk gouging the acrylic surface. The
two-person bathtub was Jeremy's idea, as I recall. I was perfectly
content with just the shower stall. In fact, that's what I use, oh,
about 100 percent of the time. If it was up to me, I'd use that dumb tub
to store cleaning supplies and spare towels. But I guess it will
eventually help the resale value of our home, if we can find a couple
that's into that sort of thing.

Why can't Jeremy and I have a normal Valentine's Day like most people?

At least this year, there was no Peruvian band serenading me from
beneath our bedroom window at 11 p.m., just as we were about to go to
bed. Contrary to what Jeremy assumed, no, it did not make me recall our
first meeting at the free international-music outdoor concert on our
college quad. A thousand times no, I do not remember the sketch he drew
of me in his sociology notebook as we sat on the lawn. Frankly, it
wasn't so much "love at first sight" on my part as, "Hmm, should I see
this guy or Neil?"

Anyway, this awful Peruvian band was strumming and wheezing away—one of
them had an accordion!—down below, and I couldn't believe Jeremy's
complete callousness toward our neighbors, all of whom have jobs to go
to in the morning. Wouldn't it have been lovely if we had received a
visit from the police? We would have looked quite attractive in our
ill-fitting nylon teddy and heart-covered boxer shorts—not my idea—in a
police lineup.

I'll spare you the more embarrassing details. If there was one thing I
could change about Jeremy, it would be his annoying habit of always
putting his own desire to treat me with overwhelming love and compassion
ahead of anybody else's feelings. There are other people in the world,
you know!

Sometimes, when Jeremy's on one of his "I love you" tears, I feel like
locking myself in the bathroom and wedging myself between the tub and
toilet until it blows over. Because the next thing I know, I'm on a
moonlit carriage ride the night I was hoping to hit the hay early and
get up and have the oil changed before work.

Every time Jeremy decides to launch into one of his little "romantic
gestures," it's just more hassle, hassle, hassle for me. When is he
going to get the message?