Valentine's Day

Some of my friends (and you know who you are) view Valentine's day as just another Hallmark Holiday, one that promotes the sale of cards, flowers and expensive - reservations only - meals. One of the local radio stations even sponsors a "Bitter Ball" for all those people who are single and hate being around happy couples on this particular night of the year. It's almost as bad as being single at a New Year’s Eve party - no one to smooch at the stroke of midnight. Unless of course you're at home with your dog.

As much as I enjoy celebrating Valentine's Day, it does bring back a number of kid fears. Who do you give a card to? Who's going to give you one? What if no one gives you a card? What if someone thinks you really like them just because you give them a card? It's no wonder I'm a worrier. Yes, I have issues.

Doc. B. and I did the "cards, flowers and expensive meals" thing for the first year (maybe the second?) and then we mutually decided it was a pain in the butt. We now still acknowledge the day, but it's toned down. There's perhaps a homemade card, some peanut M&M's, and our tradition of going out for dinner at a Chinese restaurant. You never have to wait for a table, let alone make reservations, when you're dining out for Chinese on Valentine's Day. This year we went to Pyng Ho for an early dinner and then came home to watch a NetFlix movie ("Fur" with Nicole Kidman and Robert Downey, Jr.).

The meal at Pyng Ho was good, as it is every time we go there. Doc. B. always picks us out something unusual and it comes out nicely done. A meal at Pyng Ho is not necessarily anything special, but it's consistently good and is more than just your typical Americanized Chinese food. But the fun part about Pyng Ho is that it's very easy to eavesdrop on other people's dinner conversations. And Valentine's Day didn't disappoint.

We were seated in a booth behind two elderly women; I'm guessing one was in her late 70's and the other was easily well into her 80's. I was bummed at first because I thought they might speak too quietly for me to overhear any enjoyable tidbits. But I soon learned that at least one of them was hard of hearing. Their voices carried so well, they could have been Aimee Mann's grandmothers.

There were several jewels I gathered while Doc. B's eyes rolled in my general direction. At first it was how these women were talking about their difficulty "logging in" to the Emory University e-mail system. I couldn't believe how computer literate they were. Then they moved on to complimenting each other's (very gray and brittle) hair.

But the best one liner of the evening almost made me fall out of our booth hunched over with laughter. It was when the younger one said to the older one:

"I love your nails that length; the salon did a great job on the color too. But I think you might want to go a little bit shorter next time - you don't want people thinking you're a crackhead. You know some people use their long fingernails to snort drugs."

The younger one said it so matter of factly that I'm not sure the older one knew what to make of the comment. I couldn't see their faces so I imagined the older one smiling and nodding, as if to say, "yeah, you're right," like she fully understood what the younger one meant. Like she'd actually been a crackhead back in the day.

I can only hope I'm as hip when I'm their age. Because that's certainly not how I typically use the word "crack" or "hip" when I'm discussing elderly women - "cracked hip," yes. "Crack" and "Hip," no.

Hope you each spent V-day in the way that pleased you most!