The only reason I look forward to
Valentine’s Day anymore is because it is the end of our celebrations/gift
giving for the entire year. Don’t get me wrong, I love giving gifts, especially
to Billy. But when we have Christmas, then our anniversary on December 30th,
then my birthday on January 21st, then Billy’s birthday on February 12th, and
THEN Valentine’s Day, it gets to be a little much. We’ve found a way to semi-manage
the chaos by not doing anniversary presents and planning a trip instead. This
year, we couldn’t handle the dullness of celebrating once every week, so we
decided to throw a fun move across the country into the mix. Poor Billy hasn’t
gotten a birthday present or Valentine’s Day present yet.
On the morning of Valentine’s Day,
I drove Billy to the hospital so I could run errands and get out of the house finally. I hadn't really wanted to leave the house until that day because it is so frrrreeaking cold here. And we
discovered the greatest way to start your Valentine’s morning is to get
rear-ended by a FIB (Fu*%ing Illinois Bastards is what we’ve been told
out-of-staters call the drivers here. For good reason). The lady was extremely
nice and admitted she was completely to blame. Plus, the damage on our car isn’t
too bad. Her car was fine and she said that any damage we saw was from the
accident she got in last week. I’m sensing a pattern here. She also told us
that unless someone is hurt, there’s no point in calling the police—they don’t
really care about traffic incidents here and might not even show up. Which is
maybe why all the drivers are so shitty. Anyway, we were all unscathed except I
have some wicked whiplash and had a headache the rest of the day. Or maybe I
was just milking the “I got in a scary accident” card to get a Valentine’s
massage.
Oh and then
when I went to run some errands, I parked in $8 per hour parking garage which I
thought would be validated by the place I went shopping, but nope, not so. I’m
such a city rookie. Although, I am getting really skilled at putting my grocery
cart on the cart escalator. So, that’s kinda fun.
We started the tradition several
years ago of getting take-out or pizza on Valentine’s Day so as not to deal
with the reservations and crowds. Now that we live in Chicago, we had to get
the Chicago style deep dish, of course. It was delicious going down, but not
quite as delicious when I puked it up later that night. My only wish is that this incident doesn't ruin Giordano's for me forever, because I just barely fell in love with it. That would be too cruel. We also rented “Arrival”—which is about as
romantic as our movie choices ever get. So our Valentine’s Day was one to
remember—complete with car accidents, expensive parking and lots of vomit.
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