At approximately 1:30 this morning, I cooked up a Valentine's Day surprise for my hubs - the 2.0 version of a surprise I did for him in 2003, following a particularly lousy V-Day date.
It's a cautionary tale that has shown up in many a dinner conversation and sermon illustration over the years.
The story goes something like this:
For six months or more, we had anticipated the U.S. release of Audrey Tautou's film, He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not. I mean, how can you go wrong with the doe-eyed girl from Amelie? We found out you can. While Audrey is always sweet to watch on screen, in this particular movie she plays an obsessed stalker trying to win the affections of a married man. Welcome to Crazy Town.
Now, we could have laughed this one off, had what happened before and after the movie not happened. For before the movie, I asked Chris to find a nice place for us to eat at. When he failed to plan ahead, we were left with a last-minute reservation at a Greek-American restaurant in the shopping complex near the theatre. As it turns out, this restaurant hosts a 6-course meal every Valentine's Day, in honor of the owner's wife. When they called to tell us they could fit us in, we were hopeful, not realizing what the set-up was. We arrived and immediately found ourselves confused by the look of things. When we explained to the hostess that we didn't have time for a hundred dollar sit-down multi-course dining extravaganza, she reluctantly sat us at the bar and told us we could order off the menu. The hostess was the wife, as we later found out. Awkward.
Sitting at the bar wasn't ideal, but we figured the food would be delicious and worth the misunderstanding. Maybe that would have been true, if they hadn't neglected us. To their credit, they were focused on their annual tradition and not expecting two displaced patrons. Still, I'm pretty sure we could've helped ourselves to a few martinis without anyone noticing.
After an hour, we received our food, but couldn't enjoy it because we were late for the movie. We took it to go and left the containers in our car. A disturbing 92 minutes later, we drove home, both ready to consider the evening a wash. We retold the story to our roommate later, and tried to have a laugh about it. But, like a joke with a bad punchline, we found out said roommate had eaten our fancy leftovers while we slept.
The one good thing that came from this was my clever genius.
After Chris went to bed, I stayed up and cut out over a hundred construction paper hearts and plastered his car with them.
Last night, I staged a repeat performance.
When asked what profession I would choose, if I had another skill-set, I've been known to answer "criminal or chef." This was one of those moments where being a criminal would've come in handy. Thankfully our garage is tucked behind our house, so I wasn't noticed by any of the neighbors. We do live on a street where someone would call the police at even a hint of suspicious activity. Luckily, all of those neighbors go to bed before 9pm.
However, being mentioned in our city's police blotter would be a fun addition to my blog. I may have to rethink things.
I love you, Valentine.