SB was an absolute angel yesterday. He rubbed my feet and fetched items around the home for me. Of course this had less to do with Valentine's day and more to do with the fact that my foot is huge and purple on both sides of my ankle and on top. It is my souvenir for a magnificently, awkwardly executed tackle on Saturday. I knew something was wrong when I heard a popping sound and this was verified when I woke up on Sunday morning in excruciating pain. SB has been my slave ever since. He has been forced to do all of the hunting and gathering for our sustenance as well as put up with my less than ladylike reactions to being forced into an ice bath.
In my previous relationship I used to go all out for Valentine's day. Looking back, I wonder if I was trying to compensate for the fact that the other 364 days of the year weren't so loving. I needed a lot of flowers to mask the stench of a relationship that had gone sour and was slowly putrefying. I even had an account with a flower delivery company which I used regularly, all the while hoping that my ex would one day reciprocate. He only ever gave me flowers after he called me a whore for having dinner with an old, platonic friend. Pathetically it took a few more months before I finally ran screaming for the hills, in this case the Texas hill country where my aunt and uncle welcomed me and asked if I wanted them to shoot him.
The worst part of all was that the flower company's marvelous system of setting up accounts to easily send flowers to loved ones did not have a way to remove an account. For years, every time I logged on to send flowers to my family or friends I would have to see the ex's name and address at the top of the account page. I was finally able to find someone in customer service who was able to prune him out and put an end to my fear that I would one day accidentally send him good wishes.
In my previous relationship I used to go all out for Valentine's day. Looking back, I wonder if I was trying to compensate for the fact that the other 364 days of the year weren't so loving. I needed a lot of flowers to mask the stench of a relationship that had gone sour and was slowly putrefying. I even had an account with a flower delivery company which I used regularly, all the while hoping that my ex would one day reciprocate. He only ever gave me flowers after he called me a whore for having dinner with an old, platonic friend. Pathetically it took a few more months before I finally ran screaming for the hills, in this case the Texas hill country where my aunt and uncle welcomed me and asked if I wanted them to shoot him.
The worst part of all was that the flower company's marvelous system of setting up accounts to easily send flowers to loved ones did not have a way to remove an account. For years, every time I logged on to send flowers to my family or friends I would have to see the ex's name and address at the top of the account page. I was finally able to find someone in customer service who was able to prune him out and put an end to my fear that I would one day accidentally send him good wishes.
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