No, It’s Part Of A Survival Kit
Knowledgeable readers of this column will realize something went missing last week.
If you said, “you did not run your annual ‘Obligatory Day’ column, you would be correct. And I thank you for your avid faithfulness to this column, which is on a par with that of my mom and the Little Black Dress.
For those in the dark, the Obligatory Day column runs as close to Valentine’s Day as possible. The “obligatory” term refers to the fact that we – men that is – are required by every law of the cosmos to go overboard with flowers/cards/chocolate/endearing words au nauseam in professing our profound love for our significant other.
I blame Hallmark and the floral industry for creating this duty day. But I will say this, screw it up and you might as well go step in front of a speeding train.
So why didn’t I run the column? It probably had something to do with The Dress and other well-meaning women friends who, for the most part, pretty much said …
“Give it a rest.”
So I did.
And I know everyone is just dying to know how I revolted against the whole Obligatory Day without a column, while still not having to step in front of the aforementioned train.
Valentine’s Day was on a Sunday. On Friday, I presented the LBD with three gorgeous roses.
Here’s how that went over: “Oh, roses, how sweet. Three beautiful roses.”
It was the emphasis and pronunciation on the word “three” that had me looking for the train.
“Yes, three. One for each of the SONS of Thunder.”
Collective “ooh/aah” please. I scored on that one.
After church on Sunday, I told The Dress I was going by to pick up some fried chicken and other necessities of life at the grocery store and would meet her at home.
She responded that she needed “a couple of things.” Again the emphasis on “things” meant a very certain thing. We’ve been married a few years.
So I picked up the nectar of the gods, aka, fried chicken, a few other things and headed to the aisle. My choices included Pearl, Sport, Active, Click, Travel, Radiant, Sleek and a host of others. Plastic or cardboard? Light, Regular, Super or Super Plus.
So many choices. So much confusion. But like I said, we’ve been married awhile.
Anyway, I get home, unpack the food and arrange the LBD’s little treats. Just because I hate the obligation, does not make me stupid.
She arrives soon afterward, walks into the kitchen and sees her little stash I put together. I got a serious high five.
There was the required card. An aside. There are two types of card people. Those who slowly read every one, stare off remembering a lost love and shed a tear. We are talking hours of sniffles. The second kind find a funny one and a mushy one and move on with life. I am of the latter group.
There was candy. There was no red, heart-shaped box of chocolates. The only people who do that are men who are totally clueless and buy said heart-shaped because that’s all they know to do. And the bigger the box somehow translates to the bigger the love. Yeah.
I got her a bag of mini chocolate peppermint patties. Her favorite. She will not have to pick out every piece of chocolate out of the heart box, hoping it does not have coconut.
I got her some Advil. (Insert copyright here.) And a box of her preferred tampons.
For those men who fear the little plastic tube and would rather step in front of the aforementioned train than even go down that aisle, here’s a little advice.
Watch one of those survival shows like Dual Survivor or Fat Guys in the Woods.
Tampons can be used as a water filtration device and even to start a fire. So don’t think of them as feminine products, they are, in truth, part of every man’s survival kit.
Until next time.