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Valentine Awkwardness

heart-1450302_640-1I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. Valentine’s Day and me don’t see eye to eye. Does anyone remember in high school, when those stupid candy grams would get sent to homerooms? It stunk not getting any. And the year I did get them, I felt bad for the people who didn’t. And how about the roses? Really? The office would be full of vases with dozens of roses…from high school guys to their “girlfriends”. Likely that relationship was going to last for more than that week. But, here, “take this dozen of roses it cost me fifty dollars to buy and send you, just so I’ll look good, and you’ll look better”.

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I found a paper on the counter the other day where you could send your child lollipops for Valentine’s day for a dollar or two. What about the kids who don’t get any? All because their parent, like me, forgot to send in the dumb paper that overcharged for a dum-dum pop. What about the party? And all those Valentines your child comes home with and you find for the next week under chairs and in cabinet drawers? Right, they don’t do them anymore. Valentines are even optional these days. Really?

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Then you have adulthood status: Do I, the girl, get him something? What? Like he’s really going to want a stuffed gorilla holding a dorky sign, saying it loves him. And candy? Is it me, or am I the only girl who has a boyfriend who would rather have a Payday candy bar, a bag of Cowtails, or Andy Cap’s Hot Fries? How special is that?

Don’t get me started on the restaurants. Booked. Every one of them. You have to either eat at four or nine o’clock, just to get a table. And for what? I don’t know…I’m a romantic writer, but this holiday doesn’t impress me. I guess if I were just falling in love, and wondering if the fella was going to buy me roses, it might be different. I’d get the buds, touch each one of them, swoon all over the place, smell the smell right out of them, and read the little card until it was memorized.    Now, though? It’s just another day. Isn’t that sad?

Gosh.

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77%

Couple_bored_2475394kI was listening to the radio the other day at work, and they were talking about a poll done on couples. They said that 77% of women think a guy knows exactly what’s wrong when they’re quiet and say that nothing’s wrong. Or something to that effect. I laughed out loud at the guy announcer. He was shocked. Really? I’m certainly one of those 77. I believe that when I’m quiet, my boyfriend knows very well what’s wrong. He’d have to. I’m not a mystery. He knows me well enough. There’s context clues out there in the big, bad world. Or, do they just want to feign like they don’t know, just to get out of talking about it? That’s fine with me; I don’t want to talk about it either…but know I’m not happy…and you know why!

Then I told this poll’s results to another guy. You know, that I know full well that my guy knows what my problem is when I’m quiet. And HE was shocked! Are you serious? Are guys really that unaware? Don’t you think that after you say you’re going out on Saturday with the guys and I get quiet, there’s a correlation? Seriously?

On a separate, but related subject…

I thought it was funny… my daughter got into the car today after school and said two of her friends returned from being suspended. Oh my gosh! “What were they suspended for?” I asked. She said one choked a guy and the other unrelated event, was another girl hitting a guy for saying something about her friend (his ex-girlfriend). I know, I know. I have 4 boys; I’d be pretty ticked if a girl choked or hit my son, but being a girl made me chuckle. Those girls were trying to get through to those guys. Wrong way to do it, of course. But, I don’t think that generation sounds too much like the quiet type. Those guys should have no problem with percentages of trying to figure out a girl. I don’t think they’ll give them the chance!

 

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The Hope to Rebuild Love

A-couple-kiss-at-the-train-station

Dear Wesley,

Why is it so difficult to stop a train wreck from occurring? Is it because the train tracks show no signs of bowing and cracking? Does anyone even take the time to check the foundation, to make sure it’s in tact? Or is the train traveling so quickly that the tracks become a blur and all sense of time becomes fleeting, as well? Does the train, itself, not show signs of malfunction? Sounds, like tiny-spurted screeches that go ripping through the blacked-out tunnels become unnoticed? Are we paying so much attention to other things that we don’t hear the rattling in the background? Of the bolts and screws that were once securely attached, becoming loosened with every wrong movement that’s made. It becomes white noise to our every day routines.

Aren’t there little hints of problems along the way to our destination? A bump, we felt, that perhaps had us reach for something to hold onto, but when the moment passed, we just sat back down and stared aimlessly out the window as if nothing just happened? We just want to make it successfully to our next station without creating a fuss about anything.

Was there a date I could find circled on my calendar that showed when the last time was that you held my hand? Did my hand, by shear rejection, stop waiting for your reach? Could I say for certainty that I was held blameless in not ever calling and checking on you when the second hand on the clock swept by the hour twice and you hadn’t made it home yet? In my defense, the first three occasions my call when unanswered, so went away my concern.

In the end, did my thoughts throughout the day ever stray to imagine your face, smiling and looking back at me? They might have if I could’ve remembered what it felt like to be seen by your eyes. To remember what your smile looked like.

When was the last time you touched me? Reaching for the light switch and grazing my arm doesn’t count. Although the skin on skin contact made me recall older memories of your caresses. Like lying in bed and being folded into your arms as you played with the contour of my arm with your teasing fingertips. The memory makes me smile, now, thinking about it. Something I haven’t done for quite some time.

Funny thing about train wrecks, no one sees them coming.  But, when the smoke settles on the debris that stretches as far as the eye can see, you can suddenly recall every worn track, every bump in the night, every jeer and every silent dinner, you had along the way. A lot of times, it’s only after the wreck that you can see where it got off the tracks. But, as we stand here among the destruction of our train wreck, there’s only one thing I want.

To rebuild it…better…with only you.

Amy

And, this time, we will vow to slow down when we feel a bump and see what it’s all about before we dismiss it and continue on.

Thoughts From: WAKING AMY (Feb 2016)