February . . . I'd like to say I have fond memories of numerous romantic meals in this shortest of months - but that would be a lie. Usually if the breakup didn't come by December 25th, than a week or two before February 14th was the drop dead. No chocolate covered strawberries, overpriced mundane steaks, or pitiful drugstore chocolates. Lucky me!
Instead, I've taken this time in the past to try out new dishes on myself (I really trust my judgement), buy some Costco flowers, and luxuriate in alleged said love of self with my canine/feline posse.
This year though, I'm married, the posse has passed over the rainbow bridge of everlasting chicken wings and I'm not in the mood for Hallmark foolishness. How fortunate of me to have found a man that can not tell the difference between Belgium chocolates and a Whitman sampler. I've opted out. Please - I'd rather have one perfect praline.
No such luck.
That's why I'm sitting here stuffing multiple Whitman pieces while keyboard pecking. I have my own 'no chocolate left behind' policy.