I usually treat Valentine's Day like most others. Nothing special and I don't have any high expectations for sweeping romantic gestures or picture perfect plans. But sometimes shit just happens on Valentine's Day that makes me want to scream WHAT. THE. FUCK.
For instance a few years ago... Wait. Belay that. More like 10 years ago since Fifi wasn't born yet. I had made reservations for Wiener and I to enjoy a romantic Italian dinner then go home and open cards and have chocolate and snuggle time. When I got home from work in the late afternoon before him, I was greeted by a flood of water pouring out of the garage as I opened the door. Long story short, our water heater had overflown and was flooding water from the ceiling in the attic down to the hall and out the garage. Because who DOESN'T keep their hot water heater in the attic of a one story house so it can nearly fall through the ceiling and flood the entire house ruining every single shred of flooring and requiring its replacement? Everyone should experience this because it is such fun!
Fast forward several years later and I can't really think of any major Valentine's Day issues, but I do recall a few being just sucky in general for no particular reason. And today is no exception. I swear I didn't have any high hopes or even really care that it was Valentine's Day. Maybe the day I was born the February 14 gods were just like " for this one, every February 14 will be a shitastic day from henceforth." I did not get that memo.
So here we are today and I'm in an especially pissy mood due to some personal family stuff, which I shan't go into and whine about, but the icing on the cake is this: Transferring the kids laundry from the washer to the dryer, I come across some slimy gelatinous material which I quickly realize is the remnants of an old pull-up that must have gotten left in the hamper and thrown in the wash. Good times. NOT. So here I am spending Valentine's Day elbow deep in slimy goo that I can only hope will easily clean out of the washer and wash off the clothes, but I'm not holding my breath.
And when I'm done there, I guess I'll start slaving over the Valentine's Day dinner for my loving family who I'm sure will scarf it all down before I have nary a bite then begin demanding dessert. Ungrateful bastards.
Happy Fucking Valentine's Day, y'all!