"Why are you here?" seemed to be the $64,000 question at Tai's on Thursday night. Because it was Valentine's Day, see, and I have a boyfriend this year. I attempted to justify myself to MrSteve. "You know how much energy it takes for you to spend four hours with me?" I asked. "[The agent] just spent four entire days with me in Florida. He could use the break."
This seemed to appease him (he agreed that four hours in my company is draining indeed) but the truth is that this has nothing to do with it. The real reason is that I hate Valentine's Day and I fail to see why having a boyfriend should affect my overall opinion. OK, hate may be a strong word. It's just that I can't bring myself to believe that there should be one magic day on which your love must be declared in embarrassingly florid terms lest you sign yourself up for Certain Doom. If I fail to show my love an overwhelming majority of the time, I doubt some dead plants and a cardboard box filled with heart-shaped confections will be the magic relationship fixing elixir. (Except for chocolate covered strawberries from Malley's in Cleveland. Those can fix anything.) I find it more satisfying to celebrate the St. Valentine's Day Massacre because a) that's how Valentine's Day tends to make the lonely single people feel and b) that really was a pretty badass piece of trickery.
Having said that, I did dye the rice pink when the agent came over for dinner on Friday night.