My Gift to You, H

Dear Hubby,

After eighteen Valentine's Days together, I thought it high time I give you some gifts that really matter. February the fourteenth is, traditionally, a holiday when men are supposed to bring out the big guns and wow the woman in their life with flowers, candy and jewelry. Despite my love of flowers , you are given a reprieve on this day, as not even I can justify the one hundred percent mark-up florists inflict upon men in new relationships, or those who are with a woman who has no basic math skills. You have done a fine job of meeting my minimum requirement each year which the largest Russell Stover heart-shaped box of chocolates you can find, which no one else in the family may touch, so I can eat all the caramels and fully enjoy being able to nibble the end of one of the mystery chocolates only to say, "Bleh! Peach creme!", and put it back in the box to be eaten a week later when all the chocolate centers and nougats have been eaten and the pickins are slim.

This year I thought, instead of spending money, since we are singular in our determination to get out of this house, I would give you the gifts I think really show how much I care. Sadly, none of them involve nudity, but I think you will be thrilled nonetheless.

1. Every night you are kind enough to "walk me in". For those of you who don't already know, I am an early bird and am usually asleep by nine thirty. After a short stint on the couch each night I get up to get ready for bed, applying my various serums and potions, and Hubby stands in the bathroom with me so we can eek out a few more minutes together each night. He then follows me into our room while I put on my pj's. He lies on the bed with me while we continue to chat and once I am finally ready for sleep, he cracks the window (I love to be cold when I sleep), turns on the ceiling fan and just as he thinks he's about to make his escape and finally get to play some Guitar Hero, I ask him for either a drink of water, to put the laundry in the dryer or load the coffee maker. My gift to you, Hubby, is a night off of your choosing.

2. Speaking of a drink of water, my hydration habits are also an albatross around Hubby's neck. Not only do I feel I need a bottle of water on my person at all times, but I am specific about the temperature of said water. If I had a dime for every minute Hubby has spent trying to explain to some Pakistani hot dog cart vendor in the city, or pimple-faced nineteen year-old selling water at Yankee Stadium that, no, his wife does not want the refreshingly cold agua in your cooler, but she would rather have the display water you have adhered to your cart with three rolls worth of packing tape, we'd be in our new house already. My gift to you, H? If you buy it, I'll drink it. No questions asked.

3. Lastly, my greatest gift to you. From this day forward, I free you from ever having to watch either of the following shows for even a nano-second: The Bachelor 13 and RuPaul's Drag Race. While I can not free you from your contractual obligation to watch either The Biggest Loser or The Amazing Race, as those were the terms agreed upon when Old Glory was purchased, and I still insist these are fine specimens of reality television, I will not demonad you watch Ongina lip-sync Destiny's Child's "Say My Name" or watch another twenty-nine year-old preschool teacher tearfully express her desire to settle down.

So, Happy V-day, H. As I have said repeatedly, you rock my world. I am more in love with you than the day I met you, in large part, because you have put up with all the crap listed above for so long along with my fresh-wine-glass-with-refills at bars requirement, my insistence on ordering mayonnaise on my pastrami at Katz's even when they warn you not to right on the menu and my affinity for takeout places that never offer delivery. And while I would rather give you every piece of technology your geeky little heart desires, I hope these gifts are pretty good substitutions. Especially when you consider my gift costs $9.99.