Unless he is made of very tough stuff, in the days preceding Valentine's Day no spoken-for man is safe from the pink and frilly clutches of chocolatiers, lingerie makers, florists, and greeting card manufacturers.  Some men I know try to use their brains to outwit the pull of hearts and flowers, staying aloft on a cloud of anti-commercial logic until the fifteenth when the coast is clear.  That this same cloud seems to dissipate around ball games or monster truck pulls doesn't matter -- it's the threat of coming face-to-face with having to decide between red silk crotchless panties and a two-pound box of nuts and chews that makes us feel all -- I dunno -- floofy.  Most of us, given our druthers, would just as soon hand the girl a twenty, say "Knock yerself out, babe" and then go catch a hockey game.

Not an efficacious move, gentlemen. 

I myself have come to terms with the holiday, allowing me a certain relaxation from the common nervous observance most guys are forced to endure.  I am gifted with the strength of men half my age, and having honed some particular physical skills to the point of such powerful virtuosity that, well... I'm sorry, but humility is another of my qualities.  And, y'know, chicks really dig a humble guy.  Shucks, you got me blushin' now.

We've been on a rainy day schedule today, and for me that means mostly shuffling around in a t-shirt and pajama bottoms (chicks dig this too!), fiddling with the website, and watching the electric television machine.  I actually got to watch all of "North By Northwest" this afternoon.  It's been a long time since I saw a whole movie without interruptions.  I messed around with mouseover stuff too, putting cute little pictures underneath hyperlinks hereabouts.  So I've had this Stanley Kowalski smoldering domestic tiger thing happening all day and Viv is simply beside herself with lust.  

She's been doing all kinds of things to hide it, too, trying to keep her fury caged.  She did several loads of laundry, made cookies for Amy's second-grade classroom party, went shopping, and hosed off the back patio.  Rrrraawwwrrr. 

Methinks I may just have to mosey over to where she is folding my underwear now.  She conceals her passion so cleverly, the little minx.

Wish me luck!