I'm not one of those tyrannical women who demands her husband must acknowledge Valentine's day by breaking the bank on diamonds or fancy hotel rooms, but neither am I one who prefers the day to pass by unnoticed in some sort of self-righteous snub toward greeting card companies and chocolate makers.
I like Valentine's Day. I like having extra reasons to tell my husband how amazing he is. Because, in case I haven't mentioned it lately, he is AMAZING. And though we generally take the low-key route for the holiday (ordering take-out for the whole family instead of heading out by ourselves, for example), we always have a lovely time. This year did not disappoint. It was wonderful.
Plus, my husband did not name a cockroach after me, which he could have paid $10 to do. Bonus points for David.
I have no idea what would possess a man to have a Madagascar hissing cockroach named after his sweetie pie. Imagine her horror when he says, "I had something named for you..." - she's thinking he's going to pull out a map of the heavens to show her her very own star - and then he hands her a picture of a disgusting roach.
Um, Happy Valentine's Day?
I don't care if the $10 donation goes to the Wildlife Conservation Society. I don't care if some lunatic out there thinks cockroaches are cute. And I don't care that the Bronx Zoo says nothing could be more romantic than naming the creepiest of crawlies after the love of your life because, "Nothing says forever like a cockroach."
These people are out of their minds.
And soon to be out of girlfriends.