Valentine's
Saint
Valentine & Guess Who's Coming To Dinner?
So,
I have been thinking a lot about Valentine's Day lately. And I've been talking
about it with friends as well. As I was reading some of my Hello email, I
noticed that there was not one, not two, but THREE different ads inside of every
email viewer window selling flowers for Valentine's Day. You gotta love AOL-'s
way of sneaking those ads into every one of your emails, huh? While I was
realizing what big business Valentine's Day is, I started wondering, where the
heck did Valentine's Day come from? So, I decided to do a little research.
Well, as it turns out, there are several different stories about the origin of
Valentine's Day, but one of them is by far the most common. Wanna hear it? Here
it goes.
Back
in about the year 270 A.D. or so, there was a priest named, you guessed it,
Valentine. Some versions of the story said that he was a Bishop. Either way in
those days the Emperor needed men for his army and he decided that it wasn't
good to have men marrying up with women, because then the men would be more
attached to their families than the army. So, the Emperor OUTLAWED marriage. Yep, he said, “It’s illegal to get
married”. Those were the days, huh? OK, so Priest or Bishop Valentine decided that
he was going to help young lovers out by marrying them in SECRET. Well, the
Emperor got wind of this business, and put a stop to it in a "New York
Minute". Next thing you know there’s Priest Bishop Valentine sitting alone
in prison, when who comes along? The super-babe young daughter of the jailer
and, of course, Valentine falls in love. One version of the story I read said,
that she was blind and he healed her of her blindness.
In the event, right before his
execution, yeah, they killed him for performing marriages he wrote a letter to
this girl he was in love with and at the end signed it "From Your
Valentine". Then he was executed. Okay. Fast forward several centuries and
now everyone is out buying heart-shaped cards, chocolate, and long-stemmed red
roses for women who have come to expect it. Gotta love it! Aside from me
wanting to know what the HECK a Catholic Priest was doing falling in love with
a youngster way back in the year 270 AD, more than1,700 years before this kind
of thing was fashionable, I want to know how this turned men into chasing
around with gifts for women in the year 2014!
I get it, I get it. It's nice to have
a day out of the year to celebrate your love for that special someone in your
life. Very cute. and if you're reading this right now and your ‘remarried or
you've had a girlfriend for a year or two, then by all means get her some
flowers and chocolate and one of those cute pink cards. But what about the REST
of us? Here’s a little gem of wisdom
from one of my all-time favorite books, "The Rules". The book teaches women how to manipulate men into
marrying them. Here's it is: RULE 1 Stop dating him if he doesn't buy you a
romantic gift for your birthday or Valentine's Day." Nope, I'm not kidding,
it basically says that if a man doesn’t buy you jewelry or some other romantic
gift for one of this holiday, then our should dump him, because he's not going
to buy you the “big gift" an engagement ring. Now, before I present my
radical extremist opposing perspective, I must first give you the disclaimer. I
think that long-term relationships are great, such was the case on Valentines Day 14th of February, in the year of 1999.
Who's Coming To Dinner?
When I was single, foot loose and fancy
free in the good old days of 1979, I owned a dream house condo located in the
South Ogden, Utah Ironwood Condominiums. It had everything under the sun in it
that you could imagine, a wet bar, home theater, seamless thick carpet dyed at
the factory, carpeting in the garage, solid oak doors throughout, a safe behind
a picture. It was all there, all of it designed, produced build by Eddie
O’Brian owner of Crown Water Beds in Riverdale. I bought the
layout from Eddie the year after he finished it.
I made plans for a quiet fun filled Labor
Day in a private atmosphere with a 800 gallon circular tub with a bar in
middle, to a comfy 101 degrees, chocolates, streamers, stereo music, flowers.
Everything was ready.
A full three weeks before I had a bright
idea. I would buy a blow up doll a gift for Jan. I subsequently went down to
the Adult book store on 12th and Wall Avenue around midnight. I was afraid
someone might recognize my car so I parked my car a half block down the street.
Weber County is so small everyone knows what everyone else is doing. Coming out
of the dark shadows, I opened the door and walked in. I wore a heavy coat with
the collar up and a hat covering half my face. As I stepped in a bell rang and
I turned my back to Jake who was standing behind the checkout counter, and
began looking at the magazines. Jake asked me if he could be of help. I was the
only customer in the store thank goodness.
I answered with what I thought would be a
normal question.
“Do you have any Playboy calendars?” He
said,
"No, not this time of year." I
then asked him for what I had come in for in the first place
“Do you have any blow up dolls?”
He pointed me in the general direction of
the back room which was full of all kinds of stuff, quite an education if you
haven’t been in an adult book store. After browsing around for a full hour, I
finally stumbled on to an inflatable man about normal size that I could substitute
as a passenger in my car when driving in the car pool lane. It was a blow up
doll that looked human if you use a huge heap of your imagination. I paid 24.95
including a G string.
Labor Day morning, I used the air
compressor to fill the doll with air and at the same time I named him Jack
Armstrong the All American Boy. Jack came to life with a pliant body, muscular
legs, and big chest muscles. I stood him against the fire place, and sat back
to relax. This will make Jan giggle, I told myself.
But lo' and behold, my mother and dad
showed up. Jack was standing in plain sight of the entry way. Dad noticed Jack
the moment he stepped in the door.
“What the Hell is that?” he demanded. I
quickly tried to explain
“It’s a doll.” But my humor doesn’t
coincide with my dad’s.
“Who would play with something like
that?” I had several candidates in mind, but kept my mouth shut.
“Where are his clothes?”
“Boy, that turkey sure smells nice, Dad,”
I said, trying to steer him into the kitchen dining room. But Dad was
relentless.
“Why doesn’t he have any teeth?” Again, I
could have answered, but it was Labor Day and I didn't want to shock him by
saying what I was thinking. then maybe have to be kneeling over him saying,
“Hang on, Dad, Hang on!”
My mother, where age has laid its hand
wanes feebly with poor eyesight, sided up to me and asked,
"Who’s the naked man by the
fireplace?” I said,
“It's Jan’s friend.”
A few minutes later I noticed Mom by the
mantel talking to Jack. Not just talking, but actually flirting. It was then
that I realized this might be Mom’s last Labor Day at my place.
Just then, Jan stepped in the door saving the
day. Lunch went well. We made the usual small talk about who had died, who was
dying and who should be killed, when suddenly Jack made a bang that sounded a
like a canon. He lurched from the G string, flew smoking around the living room
three times to the right and fell in a heap on the front room French Imported
Gaeta couch. DEAD.
Jan
screamed. I passed chocolate sauce through my nose and Mom ran across the room,
fell to her knees with a heavy heart crying eyes and began administering mouth
to mouth. Dad threw down his napkin, stomped out of the house, over to the
visitors parking, sat in his car and started intermittently honking the horn
for mom to leave.
It was indeed a day to remember. Later, in
the garage Jan and I conducted a thorough examination to find the cause of
Jack’s collapse. We discovered that Jack had suffered from a hot ember on his
left butt. We restored him to health using masking tape.
Jack went on to star in several Tupperware
parties, and Mom often calls me about Jack.
*Ten months after the
occurrence Love, a social media website, asked their members to vote on whether they thought Mom and Jack should
get back together, they also had bumper
stickers that said; Jack and Mom Are MAD 4 U
Dr. KARL WALLACE
To read more of my writings go to: w.w.w.karlwallaeblogspot.spot.com
To read more of my writings go to: w.w.w.karlwallaeblogspot.spot.com
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