Happy Valentine’s Day!
I remember Valentine’s Day back in elementary school. Like around 3rd grade. Decorating shoe boxes with paper doilies and glitter. Staring at the boxes of cards at the store, trying to decide between Snoopy and Garfield. And those little windowed boxes of chalky conversation hearts! Those were the good old days.
If you are a girl person, you probably remember reserving the very best, most special Valentine for a particular kid in your class:
And after the exchange, you analyzed the ones you received from everyone.
Some of them were surprising:
While some of them were dissappointing:
(Danny clearly didn’t like me if he gave me such a generic card.)
Either way, you gingerly tucked them back in the box and kept them in your closet for twenty-five years. (No, I don’t really have them still. But I did hang onto them for a year or so. Which is basically twenty-five years when you are seven.)
If you are a boy person, you probably remember getting some candy:
And well, that is about it. Although your mom might remember picking out which Valentine goes to which kid. (Dear Danny’s mom – Why did you give me the “You are super” card? Was I not a suitable match for your son? I am still deeply offended. Unless he is in prison now or something. In which case, thanks for helping me dodge that bullet.)
But all of that was eons ago. Back to the present…
Crappy Boy has a few friends who are girls. One of them in particular is really fond of him.
Her reaction to him is like this:
So the other day, I asked him what he thought of her. And this is what he said:
Oh yeah, context would be helpful here, right? They both love poop jokes. They like to insert “poopy” in front of just about any word and then giggle endlessly about it. They even dance around and sing silly songs about poop.
Which means they are pretty much identical to Crappy Papa and me.
Having someone you can have fun with? Yep. Pretty much all you need.
(Happy Valentine’s Day, Crappy Papa. If you give me a “You Are Super” card tonight I will put my sad face on. Unless it is accompanied by irony and a box of chocolates. Then I’ll know you really like me.)