Holy shit! I have missed you fuckers. Not writing everyday was tough and it seems pretty obvious that I need this outlet for my swearing.
This Saturday is Valentine’s Day. It’s never been a holiday that really meant much to me one way or the other. I don’t remember lamenting the fact that I didn’t have a Valentine when I was single and even now that I have a mandatory Valentine I don’t want anything special for the day…except ham.
We all know that Valentine’s day is totally a made up holiday. It doesn’t bother me that some people like to make it a special day for themselves and others, but I never really saw the need to participate in it traditionally. The idea of needing to book a restaurant reservation a month in advance and then eat in a super crowded room doesn’t appeal to me. I do love me some red roses, but I love other flowers just as much and if my husband paid double the price for roses because of a made up holiday, I would roll-my eyes so hard it would hurt.
When my husband and I first started dating we were kind of at a loss of what to do for our first Valentine’s day. My husband is the worlds biggest geek, so he didn’t know how to do anything regarding…well…women. I am sure that if I had said I wanted the aforementioned flowers and romantic dinner, he would have done his very best to oblige. However, when Mike asked me what I wanted for Valentine’s Day, I think my answer surprised him.
I asked for ham for our first Valentine’s day. Why? I like ham. Don’t you? So, that is what we did. We bought a ham and made a big meal and renamed the holiday Ham Day. It was great. No crowded restaurant, no obligation to do something fancy or outdo last year’s gift…just delicious salted pig flesh. Fuck yeah!
Our tradition for February 14th has been to get a ham and eat on it for the next several days. The year we decided to splurge and get a Honeybaked Ham was a magical one. Never will I ever look at grocery store ham the same way. It’s like the underachieving younger sibling of Honeybaked Ham. It tries to be succulent and perfectly spiral cut, but it just doesn’t measure up, no matter how hard it tries. If one of my sons was a regular ham and the other one was a Honeybaked Ham, I would have a favorite child.
One of the best things about Ham Day is that it is family friendly. As much as I like to get the fuck away from my dang kids, to do it on the day when everyone else is doing the same thing is a pain in the ass and just not worth the hassle. When Mike comes home with that beautiful ham it’s like Christmas…a glazed and cured Christmas! It’s not exclusive, we can invite everyone over to share our ham. It can be a celebration for all!
Now, you might think that because I asked for ham on my first Valentine’s day with the man I knew I was going to marry that I might not be romantic at all. And you’re right. I am not. I’m not an extremely cuddly or sentimental person. I appreciate the gifts my husband gives me and appreciate the effort he puts into traditional romance, but I require much less of it than others might.
When it comes to cuddling, my husband is an addict. I am free with my cuddles for my boys, but not him. Poor guy. His cuddles are limited. I think it’s his size. He’s no John Goodman, but he is bigger than our kids and when he holds me I feel trapped and my heart starts racing and I just keep thinking “nope”. Cuddling sessions usually go something like this:
Mike comes to me and wraps his arms around me in need of affection. I stand rigid and allow myself to be held for no more than 6 seconds.
Me: That’s enough.
Mike: You hug me.
Me: There, now we’re done. (Quickly squeezes my true love and lets go).
Mike: You let me love you! (still hanging on tight).
Me: Fuck off, fucker! It’s dancing time!
Actually, I can’t dance either. I have no grace or natural rhythm. It comes from being totally lame and completely white. I look like a dang fool on a dance floor. My husband loves to dance, but he looks like a fool, too. At least he is having fun though.
This whole post makes me sound like a bitchy love/fun hater. Well, eff.