Bill and I were in the midst of a minor marital spat on the night of the 13th. Me being overly dramatic and overreacting about something minor. As usual. I was kind of in the mood to forget about Valentine’s Day, but it came anyway.
I’m glad that Bill is not overly dramatic like me, and went forward with Valentine’s Day as if I hadn’t just pitched a hissy fit like a four year old the previous night. I woke up to flowers and this on the kitchen table.
You know you’re jealous of the man’s rockin’ paper folding skills. I feel like we’re passing notes in class. We’re so 12 like that. It’s getting stapled into the love journal, which is what he got for Valentine’s Day this year.
I’m not sure if that technically makes it his turn to give it back to me, or my turn next. I guess, since I wrote in it before Valentine’s Day and his stapled note is afterward, that puts it back on me. Guess I know what the Easter Bunny is bringing him this year!
I was more in love with that note than the massage gift certificate. Note to men around the world: being told that we are amazing, inspirational, and fun – in writing – is WAY better than any massage.
Don’t get me wrong, massages are great. Don’t stop with the massage gift certificates.
Like I’m planning to share with my family? Ha! You think my butt got this big because I SHARE my treats?
Speaking of getting big butts from chocolate treats, we stopped at my dad’s office to give him his posterboard-sized Valentine’s Day card.
Hmmm…that came out wrong. My dad does not have a big butt. I wish my butt was as small as his. However, he apparently likes to contribute to the enormity of my backside, because the kids got new stuffed animals to launch at us for Valentine’s Day from him, and I got this.
See, here’s the thing with my dad and the Whitman’s Sampler: when I was a kid, he used to get me a Whitman’s Sampler for Christmas. The normal sized one. Every single year, I would see the wrapped box under the Christmas tree and I knew exactly what it was. When I moved back to Tennessee, it started appearing under the tree again.
Christmas of 2011, he forgot about my Whitman’s Sampler. I jokingly mentioned it a few weeks later, and he hasn’t lived it down. No, I wasn’t being a bratty kid; I thought it was funny, and it was even funnier when he was like, “Oh, sh!t, you’re right! I forgot all about it!” Like I’m going to die without my made in America chocolate.
Yes, you read that right. That sucker is proudly made in the U.S.A. While I am a connoisseur of foreign chocolate, and am totally into the super dark stuff, the patriotic hippie in me still loves my made in America goodies, whether it’s Fiestaware or chocolate. My dad knows that, and that must be why he always gets me the Whitman’s Sampler.
Nah, that’s not why. I think it was a simple thing for him to pick up for me when I was a teenager, and now it’s morphed into a thing. Which is totally cool, because I’m all about when stuff morphs into a thing.
This past Christmas, it was missing again. (My dad does Christmas with us after Christmas, because he’s up in Pennsylvania with his brothers and sisters and other children for Christmas and New Year’s. So it’s easy to forget it when there aren’t really presents to put under a tree.) He says he made up for it yesterday. Because while the scale of the picture may be deceiving, this is no ordinary Whitman’s Sampler.
It’s been super-sized. Normal Whitman’s Samplers are two stories of chocolate love. This giant Whitman’s Sampler box is a two story chocolate DUPLEX. Yep, if you look closely, the map of chocolate goodness on the top has way less squares than are in the package. That’s because the map covers one quadrant of the contents.
I’m holding out for this bad boy on my 40th birthday. A triplex. FORTY OUNCES of chocolate paradise.
Makes my teeth hurt just thinking about it.
I’ve clearly been sharing the massive box that my dad gave me. Whitman’s Samplers don’t last long in our house, particularly when there are lots of munchkin-sized chocolate lovers around.
We went out and ran our 10th mile for Mercy Project (yes, I know I need to catch up with recaps of those; coming soon, I promise) and Taylor hiked up her leggings the entire time. She says they have gotten bigger since the last time she wore them. Based on the amount of chocolate we have consumed in the past 24 hours, I think they’ll fit just fine the next time around.
Bill and I had a totally romantic dinner together after the kids went to bed. We each ran our scheduled training runs on the treadmill and then made huge salads and watched The Real World London while we snarfed down our veggies. Hulu Plus for the win!
And the veggies completely offset the mass quantities of chocolate that were consumed yesterday. Really.
Who am I kidding? Even with the workout I did, I wouldn’t be shocked if I gained five pounds overnight.
But, the most important thing is that I still think The Real World Miami was the most superior season ever. Seattle is in second. That was back when it was an amazing social experiment, with interesting people in the cast, and not the mayhem that it is now. Of course, neither of those seasons appear to be available online or on DVD, which is kind of depressing.
What was your favorite season of The Real World?