Delayed Gratification

It’s Valentine’s Day, otherwise known as the one day each year when couples over-spend in order to prove the depth of their love for each other.

After 25 years of marriage, I might be a little jaded, but my cynicism is practical. My husband and I haven’t stopped celebrating Valentine’s Day. We just move it forward by a few days. The date we celebrate depends on when Walgreen’s reduces the price of their Valentine’s candy by 75%.

I’m not crazy. Why would I settle for one small heart of chocolate that costs $20 when I can have a shopping-cart full of giant hearts for the same $20 a few days later?

I learned the hard way. In our first year of dating, my husband and I were on the way to dinner when he handed me a box of beautiful handmade chocolates (that his friend’s sister made and forcefully sold to all of his friends). I was touched. They were almost too pretty to eat. The candy set the tone for the evening. I was giddy with romance and anticipating our romantic dinner.

When we got to the restaurant, my husband gallantly came around the car to open my door. I stepped out of the car and the expensive candy which was on my lap fell onto the ground and scattered all over the parking lot. That was embarrassing. And expensive for my husband.

Now I get truckloads of marked-down candy that tastes as sweet as it would have on Valentine’s Day, and if I drop it in the street, it’s really no big loss.

Valentine’s Day Popcorn Massacre

Today I ate  a bucket of popcorn, washed down with a giant-sized diet soda while watching “Hail, Caesar!” with my husband. The movie was fluffy  and fun, and the junk food was delightful. The company was great, too.

It was a day of wonderful over-indulgence, but it will pale in comparison to this Wednesday, when all chocolate Valentine’s Day candy will be reduced to 75% off. Don’t expect to hear from me until about next week.

Happy VD

One of the benefits of being married is that you always have a valentine on February 14. The irony is that many long-married couples ignore the day completely. Restaurants are packed and charge diners top dollar; price-gouging is rampant for flowers, cards, and candy; and forced romance is, well, forced. It’s a relief to have a permanent valentine because it eliminates the pressure that singles experience.

For instance, back when my husband and I first started dating, he went to a friend’s house to watch a football game with a bunch of guys. The sister of the host announced that she made homemade chocolates; she then proceeded to guilt all of the guys into ordering her very expensive candy. So, months later, on Valentine’s Day, my husband took me to the movies. While we drove there, he handed me the box of candy. Each piece was a work of art. When we got to the theater, he gallantly opened my door. As I got out of the car, I forgot that I had the box of chocolates in my lap. The box fell to the ground and the handmade chocolates scattered all over the parking lot. I was horrified. My husband was appalled that he had been robbed by his friend’s sister only to have his clumsy girlfriend ruin his gift. I haven’t gotten handmade chocolates since.

This reminds me of another story about presents given by a love-addled guy to his girlfriend. Years ago, I had a Saturday job in the circulation department of a local newspaper. I worked with other women, counting money and answering phone calls from disgruntled subscribers. Our office was separate from the newsroom. While I only worked on Saturdays, the other employees worked full-time and took turns working on Saturdays. On one occasion, I was working with a young woman whose desktop was overflowing with cards, small stuffed animals, and flowers. One of the columnists walked through our office on his way to the newsroom. When he saw her desk, he asked, “Are all of those gifts from your boyfriend?” She said that they were. He then asked, “Is he in the service?” She shook her head and said, “No, he’s in jail.” That flustered the writer, who smiled and made a quick getaway. We all thought that this was hilarious. Later, one of the women pulled me aside and said, “I wonder what he would have done if he learned that her boyfriend was actually her half-brother?” True story. Honest to God.

While that story has absolutely nothing to do with Valentine’s Day, it had to be told. But, back to today. My husband and I are going to a Mardi Gras party tonight. I was thinking of taking heart-shaped cookies to the party, as a nod to the holiday. That’s about the extent of our celebration of the day. However, tomorrow, when all heart-shaped boxes of candy are 75% off, that’s when we’ll celebrate. Married couples know that love isn’t restricted to a specific day, and we’re patient enough to wait for markdowns.

Brain Candy

I’ve always been proud to call myself a reader. Smug, even. For some reason I still can’t fathom, when people refer to another as “a reader,” a hush falls over the room and everyone stares at the reader with admiration. I am a voracious reader of books, but considering that I read solely for entertainment and to escape from reality, I hardly deserve any approbation. Okay, reading has improved my vocabulary, but that’s the only benefit I can credit to the thousands of hours I’ve spent ignoring my family, and my ever-increasing laundry pile, to live vicariously through the characters in books.

Because being a reader is regarded as a noble thing, I can’t help but wonder why others proudly proclaim that they don’t read. Don’t do whatever you want in the privacy of your own home, but I would think it would be wiser to keep your non-activity private in a world where readers are revered.

Among readers, there’s a hierarchy. If you exclusively read nonfiction, then you’re considered an elite reader. Literary fiction is next, followed by other fiction, and the rest. There are many other categories, but I’m not going to try to think of them all for fear I’ll get side-tracked with categories, subcategories, genres, subgenres, etc.

Regarding my own reading habits, I  freely, yet sheepishly, admit that I ordinarily do not read nonfiction. I also don’t read to purposely learn anything. Whatever I inadvertently learn while reading seeps into my brain without any encouragement from me. That puts me, I shudder to acknowledge, on a par with someone who doesn’t read and only watches TV for entertainment. TV watchers who limit their viewing to political or learning channels fall higher on the Media Consumer Scale (which I just invented).

So, you ask, what am I trying to say, and why is it taking so many words to say it? What I’m saying is that books to me are brain candy: sweet and satisfying for the moment. I rarely recall what I read the day before and it’s even rarer for me to read a book that stays with me for days or weeks. Therefore, readers of my caliber do not deserve to be worshipped and adored by nonreaders, especially those who watch The History Channel or NOVA. (Worshipped and adored might be overstating the case, but permit me some hyperbole, since I know, from reading the word and then looking it up, what hyperbole means.)

To address the second part of your question, it is taking me so many words to make my case because I’m obfuscating the true purpose of this post: to promote my website, www.spbroundup.com, to all of the readers out there, regardless of where you fall on the Media Consumer Scale. My website is home to the works of self-published, or indie, authors. The quality of the books varies greatly, but so does the variety of topics. There are many fresh voices out there that, heretofore, were not heard—some deservedly. But there are many authors who have created quality works which deserve a look. So, do yourself a favor, and take a look. You’ll feel like a kid in a candy store.

 

Check out what indie authors have to offer at www.spbroundup.com.