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Issue #45, February 15, 2008

The Sheltered Islander By Sally Flynn

Valentine's Day: ICU means I Love You

Valentine's Day - the day when all men must answer the questions, "How much do you love me and why isn't it more?"

I feel sorry for men on Valentine's Day. They know they have to get it right, but they are so lost on how to do it. When men are courting they truly want to get it right because they want to build the relationship. But after the foundation of the relationship is built, Valentine's Day becomes a nuisance to them - a maintenance task like mowing the lawn or changing the oil.

Men struggle to find the cheapest and easiest gift they can that will still fulfill the female need for yet another protestation of love. Courting men try to choose the cheapest gift they can that will still make her feel obligated to show her appreciation. Married men no longer hope for any intimate access for their efforts, they just don't want to get in any trouble. They don't want their woman slamming kitchen cabinets the next day and finding the single fake rose they bought stuck to the cabinet with a steak knife through it. Please don't feel bad if that happened to you. All men in a long-term relationship make the mistake of buying the last minute fake rose with a crappy card once, but just once. If they make that mistake twice, we move them into the divorced, or soon to be divorced, man category.

All of the flower and candy companies have a range of gifts for men to select from. I recall a male friend looking at an FTD-type newspaper insert that showed all the different flower and gift combos he could choose from. His eyes scanned back and forth in desperation. He finally slapped the table and said, "Well hell, I don't know what to pick."

"How much gratitude do you want?" I asked. "This tiny rose plant in a coffee cup you're looking at will get you a hug and a kiss on the cheek."

"You mean, there's a system?" the fool asked incredulously.

"Yes," I said nonchalantly.

"How would you know?" he asked, mistakenly thinking that a middle-aged woman who looks like a PTA mom has no past (let me tell all you guys right now, we all have a past).

I gave him that well practiced icy stare that all women have. The one that shrinks them to the size of a bug. "Ask the crew of the Nimitz," I said very quietly.

"Ouch! I'm convinced. Will you tell me how this works, please?"

"Absolutely. There's a direct correlation between the amount of thought and money spent on a gift and the amount of appreciation we feel obligated to show you to insure that we'll get another great gift next year as well."

"Okay. How much appreciation could I get for a dozen red roses?"

"You could get a decent make out session." "Well, what if I, if I, ah, would like a little more appreciation?"

"Depends on the vase. Sending the roses in a plain glass vase won't get you any extra points. But send them in the Murano glass vase, you could get a lot of appreciation for that," I answered.

"Is there anything in this flyer that could get me anything ah, exotic appreciation?"

"Sorry, there's no kinky sex bouquet. You have to add jewelry to roses and candy to get anything like that."

"Did your husband know about this system?"

"Yes, he did. I got a pair of emerald and diamond earrings totaling four carats one Valentine's Day."

"Wow, what did you have to, I mean, I guess you had to show a lot of appreciation for that."

"Oh yes, he was well appreciated that night. He didn't complain once the whole next week when he was in the Intensive Care Unit."

So, for all you guys shopping for the Valentine's gift this week, get real flowers or real (sterling or 14kt) jewelry. Buy a nice card. I don't care if it costs you $5, you don't want to see your card with a steak knife through it, do you? And if you get a really spectacular gift, you too, could wind up in ICU.


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