Valentine's Day is a woman's holiday.
Sure, we can tell ourselves that it's not a gender-specific holiday just as easily as we can fool ourselves into believing it's not a commercialized hot zone. At the end of the day, though, it's not about our universal need to display our utmost affection for our significant other (or the converse disillusionment with love). It's about having one day a year in which our male counterparts are forced to use their A Game or go home in shame (read: alone).
My understanding of this does not preclude Shannon from the rules and guidelines of said holiday. It does, however, provide him with some wiggle room when searching for an appropriate gift.
You have to understand something about me. I don't wear a lot of jewelry. I don't get giddy over diamond earrings (though I have been known to swoon of diamond rings, especially the engagement kind). I'm not a huge fan of the heart pendants that are all the rage around V Day, and I'm certainly not going to get all mushy about a tennis bracelet. Who wears that crap when playing tennis anyway?
The good news is, I do like flowers. But....my favorite flower is not a rose. It's a Gerber daisy. Not always the easiest flower to find, if you've looked.
Should we get into the undergarment conundrum? Why not. Fancy lingerie isn't really up my alley. After all, my mother bought me pajama bottoms with hearts and Tinkerbells on them for Christmas because, and I quote, "If Shannon's going to be forced to sleep next to someone in flannel, it can at least be cute flannel." I think my mother misses the point of flannel. It's not sexy or cute. It's functional. Shannon understands this. We keep our house set at 67 during the winter. I get cold. But thanks, Mom, for the understanding.
I'm sure you're getting the picture here. I'm not an easy person to shop for, and I'm certainly not very conventional. So what do you do when the pressure is on?
You buy these.
Knives. Beautiful, sharp, stainless steel knives. An entire knife set. A glorious shrine to the act of cutting and chopping. You buy brand new knives for me to squeal over and hand wash and towel dry and set up in just the perfect spot on my counter.
Then you take a picture of me looking a little bit crazy in love with said knives.
After all this is done, and the knife in question has been securely placed in the knife block, you receive a big fat kiss and a bear hug. You know why? Because you absolutely rock.
This is the look of true love.
I am the luckiest girl ever.