“So we’re not arsed with buying cards are we?” The Accidental Terrorist glared at me through the eye-slit in his balaclava.
“Naaah, screw Hallmark. Say… how ’bout we go shopping for wedding rings instead? Cool mark for an occasion as any, innit?”
“Yeah! Tell you what… wake me up with a rasher sandwich and a cup of coffee at 4pm and we’ll sort that out” sez he. The train of conversation got blitzed in a sudden ‘Shite!’ from me as my little Yoshi character hit a banana skin and slid his wee Mariokart into a gorge. First place lost, dammit.
I woke this morning in the bed of TAT’s sister. Having spent the night on a haze of red wine and conversations floating around our prostitute names (mine’s Misty Bushpark) and the trials and tribulations of fellatio, we woke spooning against the cold of the broken central heating system. Puppychild bounced on us and sored our heads.
TAT’s sister would not be seeing her husband on Valentine’s day either, but we are each others next best thing I suppose. As we properly reasoned, every day is Valentines day if you’re lucky to own that frame of relationship. I brought her flowers, to keep her husband on his toes.
I spent the morning on her couch in a duvet-roll with Puppychild and allowed random flickers of Nickelodeon to invade my semi-consciousness until the urge for coffee kicked in, at which point the day should really start, maybe 1.30pm is pushing it a bit. We spent the morning fawning over my trappings of wedding concerns, then she turfed me up into the attic to remedy a problem with a dodgy stop-cock. (*giggle*)
I arrived home at about 4pm, and nudged the sleeping terrorist. He looked and smelled too comfortable, and was only in the sixth hour of his sleep so I didn’t push it. Instead, I chose to climb rope bridges in Shankill playground instead. I highly reccomend swinging where at all possible, in the non-biblical way I mean. There’s nothing more powerful to knock the senses than flying through the air lying back with your head brushing the ground on a swing… a proper timber swing with six foot ropes and excellent potential for momentum. You should try it if you don’t already.
(found at http://www.foundshit.com/)
I spent an hour afterward over dinner chatting with TAT and enjoying his accounts of the back-stabbing dog eating world that seems to be taxi-driving nowadays, and now I am alone again with my whiskey and my computer and LastFM.
I got no flowers, but the flowers he brought me last week still occupy the vase, even if the rest are fading, the lilys are at their climax now. I got no card, but I always feel horrible when I have to throw out cards, or burn them or recycle them… it’s the embodiment of a love that really doesn’t have to be. Tokens are all over the place, there’s really no need for more, besides… I never know what to write in the damn things. I love TAT today as much as I do every day, and all the days after that. Valentines Schmalentines.
Apparently this day in 278, Valentine was beheaded in Rome just as today, somewhere in Hallmark, someone probably got fired because sales are down. It’s a parallel, it gets my cogs grinding, such is life.