nothing says love like an empty megastore

valentine's day 2002: i pulled up to his house and put the car in park. the kid is terminally late. a song and a half later, he burst out the front door--jacket half on and hatless-- and got in. he threw a folded piece of printer paper in my lap, turned up the radio and began to slamdance in the passenger seat. the note was a cheesy valentine printout from some children's website, but a sweet gesture for a chill evening at IKEA because neither of us had a significant other with whom to get mushy.

if you hate crowds, valentine's day night is IDEAL for IKEA. not a soul was around to roll their eyes at us flopping on couches, spinning chairs, opening drawers, pulling back curtains. however an audience might have enjoyed the silly scenarios we enacted in the pretend-room displays. you know, if they weren't trying to shop for furniture or something ridiculous like that.

later, we went to a local pizzeria and shared a heart-shaped pizza pie. we felt right at home with all the families with kids jockeying for the cheesiest pieces and the curliest fries. we bitched and moaned over the state of our love lives, our jobs, our *plans,* and joked around in the usual way. a good time was had by all.

this year i'm disappointed that i can't be all sappy with H in person, but i did stumble upon this in my desk.


happy valentine's to you, highcon. don't be a stranger now that you've moved to the Big Apple.

and to the rest of you: you're special! wand-erful, even.