I’d like to offer apologies in advance to those of you who love Valentine’s Day and find my thoughts saccharine-religious. I don’t always spend my time thinking of things like this. Oh, no, it sometimes gets worse.
I wonder how old Cupid is and why he’s still wearing a Toga? Is he a party animal? Does he get drunk and stupid like we did when we were young and throw up on the floor? Who cleans it up? Do mother or father clean up after their little Cupid? (Midlife parents would do anything for their children, overlook any problem, for even terribly misbehaved ones like Cupid.)
And why in the world would we let someone so young and inexperienced choose our mate? It’s worse than having your mother set you up on a blind date. As we get older does Cupid use different arrows with softer tips? I bruise more easily now and it takes me longer to heal from any injury, physical or psychological.
Why isn’t there a female cupid? I’ve never seen one. How can you trust a guy to fix you up if he can’t even find a woman for himself? Maybe we have a middle-aged, paunch belly, balding, Mr. Cupid assigned to us midlife parents? The reason we don’t see a Mrs. Cupid is because she chose to stay home and raise her children or she’s holding down a job and rushing home to prepare dinner for everyone else? Of course Mrs. Cupid has to try and be everything to everyone and hold down a job as well. How much can Mr. Cupid really make, even in a good year?
Or maybe Mr. Cupid has just been laid off, is in a deep depression and longs for the days when he had his son’s job. Think about it; where does a middle age Cupid go for a job? Secretly, he’s cheering on his wild offspring.
Cupid would be better coordinated and better dressed if there were a Mrs. Cupid. Our Cupid, young or old, would be dressed in a business suit or maybe slacks and a polo shirt on casual days. Jeans would be a no-no. That toga would have been burned long ago.
Instead of arrows, Cupid would send e-mails or if he were really savvy, text us instead.
Enough about Cupid and my crazy ravings. I’ve still got Passover and Easter to consider next and don’t even get me started on the Capitalist plot to hijack Chanukah, Christmas, Kwanza, Ramadan, Festivus and the plan to make the year one contiguous holiday.
Instead, I’d like to tell my wife how much I love her and make my Valentine’s Day promises for the coming year.
-more-
Dearest Heidi:
- I promise not to leave any children at any soccer (or other) field this year
- I promise not to leave the stove or oven on and start weeding the garden
- I will tell you where I am going all the time even if it means when I am going to the bathroom, just going outside to take the garbage or downstairs to check the wash
- I won’t laugh when you think one of our children has the bubonic plague
- I will take our children to the doctor, urgent care or emergency room any time day or night whether they are bleeding or not
- I will be positive
- I won’t slurp
- I’ll only give you the white meat of the chicken
- I will check my calendar daily
- I will check your calendar daily
- (Where the heck is the damn calendar?)
- I will clean up for the cleaning lady as needed without complaint
- For every single thing I drag in off the streets or buy at yard sales, I will get rid of something else
- I’ll pay attention when you’re talking to me
- I won’t mumble
- I won’t suck in my stomach and preen in front of a mirror
- I definitely promise not to shrink any more of your clothes
- I’ll keep my keys in one place
- I’ll pay attention when you’re talking to me
- I won’t repeat myself
- I’ll clean my desk and keep it clean
- I won’t make promises that I have no hope of keeping
Love you very much,
Your husband, father to our children and chief mischief-maker –
Marc