Yesterday, I tried to get romantic. It’s Valentine’s week and I was feeling lovish so I got out my Nashville soundtrack CD, cued it up to what is currently my favorite love song and left it in Dan’s car so he’d hear it when he headed to work in the morning.
I worried that he’d get in the car, think, This is not Jazz. Why is this not jazz? and turn it off, so I told him to listen to the song I’d cued up because it contained a special message.
When I said I love this love song, what I meanter say (channeling Hagrid here) was that every time I listen to it, I cry and I want to tell Dan to quit his stupid day job, come home and hold me. HOLD ME!
So I waited to hear back from him. Did he love the song, even though it had lyrics and a discernible melody? Did he feel the same as I, perhaps even wiping away a phantom tear of romantic ecstasy?
His responding text said, “Um… I hope you pressed the button one too many times. It was about how you can see through my lying cheating ways… ”
Now, I like to mess with Dan. It brings me pleasure. He plays along. I call it flirting. RE: he is my boyfriend.
There was the time I put pigs’ feet in a prominent place in our kitchen cupboard and waited to see how long it would take him to notice them.
Then there was the time I went out to his car every night for weeks and tuned his radio to the Mexican Mariachi band station at a deafening volume so that he’d enjoy turning on his car for his commute in the morning.
But this time I was sincere, and very romantical… But I did press the button one too many times. What I wanted him to hear was this:
What he got was this:
Not quite as Valentinesy. I’ll make it up to him soon. I’m making him the best, weirdest belated Valentine’s day present ever. I will keep you posted.