Well, Valentine’s Day (or ValenTIME’s Day to the people who also say “SupposeBly”) is less than a week away. I have no idea what to get the light of my life. Or my husband, either. I was thinking back to gifts I’ve received from ex-boyfriends, and frankly, now I know why they are all exes. Here is an assortment of gifts I’ve received in years past: ugly stuffed animals my dog wouldn’t even hump (and she humps everything—word to the wise: elbows in during sit-ups if Daisy is loose in the room), a set of tires for my car, a cliché—I mean a bouquet of flowers, a microwave, a Trenchcoat Mafia black leather jacket, dinner at a few suckass restaurant franchises, and my freedom (read: I was dumped. Twice. On two separate Valentine’s Days. But I did get a lovely glow candle as a parting gift once.) Well, looking back, the tires were pretty useful, but that’s like getting socks as a gift. Or a box of maxi pads.
I can’t remember a single thing I ever got anyone I dated, but those gifts probably sucked, too. Oh, once I made a guy a list of 100 things I liked about him. Now THERE are four hours of my life I want back. Kind of how you’d feel after watching a double feature of Catwoman and Battlefield Earth. And five years ago when I was first dating my husband I made him a scrapbook-collagey thing full of pictures from our life together up to that point. Because nothing says “I love you” like the clever application of pinking shears, stickers, and various novelty hole punches on construction paper. (Actually, what it really said was, “I’m cheap AND crafty!”)
But now I’m stumped. The desired gifts are of such a highly technical nature that I know I’d screw it up if I tried to “surprise” him. I mean, I tossed my cell phone into the trunk of my car when I could no longer figure out how to re-up my minutes, and I haven’t seen it since. I can barely figure out how to flip back to Iron Chef after watching a DVD. I’m kind of like my Dad that way. Couldn’t figure out how to hang up the cell phone, so he smashed it on the ground. Just doing our part to support the whole “descendent of apes” side of the story.
So anyway. Now most of our gift exchanges take the form of joint shopping expeditions. What better way to reaffirm a lifelong commitment to one another than to participate in a good, old-fashioned American consumer orgy? Sure, I could have said, “shopping spree,” but it is ValenTIME’s Day. And “orgy” is just more romantic, don’t you think?
Now I want to know: what’s the shittiest gift you’ve ever received (or given) on Valentine’s Day?