My husband and I aren’t, and never really have been, all that romantic. It was like a seminar that we both missed. The main issue is our relationship is a case of Midwest pragmatism doubled. For example, my husband once came to a theatrical performance of mine when we were dating. He decided not to bring me flowers. Flowers, he reasoned, would be annoying to carry around after the show ended. Instead, he brought me a five-pound plastic tote of fresh apples. As you might expect, a five pound bag of apples was even a bit more awkward than flowers to bring to a cast party. My friends were stunned.”Hey, hey, Rach. Saw your boyfriend came… oh. Well, those are… autumnal.”
The apples were delicious though. I made a pie, and obviously, a memory.
Now, five years into our marriage, we dug into our son’s Valentine’s Day haul and turned on some Bob’s Burgers. If you had told me ten years ago that I would be thrilled to spend this hyped, greeting-card holiday this way, I would have raised an eyebrow, but that was because ten years ago I hadn’t met the realistic, anti-hype man that I married and because Bob’s Burgers didn’t start yet, duh.
When love gives you apples, make apple pie. Love doesn’t always look like flowers.