V-day Respect

Sorry for the lack of posting yesterday, I decided to give Valentine’s Day the respect it deserves and. . . . . ignore it.
I’m making up for it today, the 15th, by having some solid girl time.
Yes, girl time, Hos before bros. I'm chilling with those woman that will always be there to hide the shopping bags from my husband or come over for a cup of coffee if I want to talk.
If the cup of coffee doesn’t work, they can always come over for a bottle of wine and help plot my revenge.
I shouldn’t be calling myself a V-day hater.
My first present from a boy was in third grade, it was a heart pin that said “Be Mine” from Jamie Dansereau, my first “boyfriend” ever.
I still have it, because I’m sentimental that way.
And I think this is about the age where the problems start between girls and boys, since at Lexi’s practice yesterday, the girls were out for blood. Almost every single girl had to be pulled and spoken to about their aggressive behavior.
But did that stop them. Oh no. They all got together and asked to scrimmage so they could scratch at each other, pull hair, and hit arms legally, or so they thought.
It was a big no to that question and they finished the season out with shooting drills and lay ups, anything that did not require defense and the opportunity to kill one another.
I can only imagine they were irritated with the hormones of preadolescence and the irritation that their little boyfriends not only did not call, but just did not get how important the day was.
If I gave them an announcement, it’d be to tell them to get used to it, ladies. If you want something from a man, you need to be clear and concise, all those hints, looking pretty, and batting eyes just don’t completely work.
If I could go back in time and change history, I would have the cave women clubbing men over the head and dragging them into flower patches or to the garden to gather food for a damn good meal.
The entire species may have died if I was in charge, because I would’ve convinced all the other cave women to hold out on the goods until the men got it.
But this isn’t how history went. This isn’t even how the present goes, except sometimes, and then those guys turn out crazy anyway.

I did get a romantic "sweep her off her feet" gesture one year from Jon. My freshman year of college, he arranged for me to have a dozen roses of all colors arrive every hour one the hour for 6 hours.

Was I ever the talk of the all girls college, and my roommate, Cheryl, was celebrating too, since they were delivered to the dorm and when I was out she got to run and get them. The whole floor smelled like flowers, and even the "coolest" upper classman, who already had labeled me "J. Crew" for my looks, now decided I was as much of a diva as I was hot and were all tracking me down to hook them up with a man as fine as mine.

Some insisted it was the white thing, but I set them straight, men of all cultures can be very, very good, but they can also be very, very wrong. See my case and point "husband of the year awards below."
Despite these couple fond memories, I’m celebrating with my girls and we’re going to see “Confessions of a shop-a-holic” and bond over our womanhood.
I think I may call Lexi to join in too.