Thank God it's over.
I was a hideous girlfriend, which karmically explains how I ended up with Jerod -- Mr. Romance, if romance is snoring on the couch with King of the Hill or Moonshiners on television.
I gave up on champagne and candlelight many, many years ago. Something in the way Drunk Jerod vomited in the lobby at the Olive Garden on our first dress-up date told me I shouldn't hold my breath for any fantastic gestures with flowers and jewelry and bubble bath.
Romance is overrated.
I like the cotton grandma panties that come in packs of 20 at Costco. I like sweatpants and hoodies and a bed all to myself.
The highlight of Valentine's 2012 was Lily's classroom party, which I -- being a room mom -- contributed to with homemade sugar cookies and pink buttercream frosting. If it sounds simple -- it should have been -- it wasn't.
Much like I'm not the kind of woman who wears pretty underwear and receives pretty "I-love-your-panties" roses on Valentine's Day; I'm not the kind of mother who puts together beautiful party activities for her children. I try, but I fail. The cookies turned out -- sort of. Ashlyn took a couple of bites of one and handed it back to me with a sort of disgusted scowl.
Lily was more diplomatic.
"I think something's missing," she suggested. "They don't have much flavor."
I told her the frosting would take care of that -- sugar cookies are supposed to be boring.
The frosting tasted very good, but it was rather stiff and tricky for the kids to spread on their cookies with plastic knives -- a quarter of the class including Lily opted out of the activity.
So I returned home with a lot of cookies and buttercream frosting, and I spent most of the evening in the bathroom with what I assume was butter poisoning.