It was 2002 and it was my wife’s and my first Valentine’s Day as a married couple.
Up until this point, we had experienced nothing but marital bliss. Toilet seats were left up, clothing missed getting in to the hamper, a home cooked meal meant putting the take-out food on plates instead of eating right out of the bag, and through it all we looked at each other with the glimmer of love only being married less than a year can produce. Valentine’s Day was going to be like being newlyweds on performance enhancing drugs supplied by Cupid himself.
We were poor enough that any restaurant with cloth napkins and no water spots on the silverware would have been too expensive so my wife decided to cook for our inaugural Valentine’s Day. It was a daring move considering her culinary experience consisted of cooking Hamburger Helper but, as I said, we were newlyweds and anything we did was seen as a testament of our unyielding love for each other (even potential food poisoning). We planned to have a candle lit dinner, music from a tape I had mixed a few years prior when I was still trying to impress my wife, and then let the night………
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