Romancing the Shrew

Being romantic is just not in my genes. Romantic to me is having your mate hold your hair out of the way while you are in the throes of the flu and vomiting in, on and around the toilet bowl. I unfortunately married a man who could have written Harlequin Romance novels.  He was the perfect accomplice for my then 3 yr old sons.

In early February of 1998 we had moved into a new, what I like to call uppity, subdivision. We had not had time, or probably in my case the inclination, to meet any of our new uppity neighbors before Valentine's Day rolled around.  By the time Valentine's Day was over that year meeting any of our new neighbors was no longer a possibility. I imagine it was something they feared and I could never be sure they had not installed booby traps to prevent me from entering their yards so it wasn't worth the risk.

We live in the south, which means we rarely ever have snow or ice. We live with the constant teasing of the weather service and their dire predictions of "winter weather" that never happens, it only whips the people here into a frantic frenzy of "what ifs". But that year we woke up to ice and falling snow. I am originally from a place that gets regular snow and ice and being someone who loves that kind of winter weather I was excited. Which is probably why I went along with the Valentine's Day debacle without complaining. That and the fact that my 3 yr old's were so proud of everything they had done and I couldn't break their hearts by being grumpy. I put a smile on my face thinking "How bad can it be, I can get through this". I was so wrong, so very wrong.

Demon Seed came bouncing into my room with his gift, beautifully wrapped. My husband had excellent taste so I wasn't too worried until I heard my son say "You have to put it on right now Mommy, I picked it out all by myself!" What fairly intelligent grown man with a college degree lets a child that thinks fluorescent orange matches perfectly with fluorescent red pick out a gift on his own?  I don't even have words to tell you how bad it was but he was so proud and I wasn't going to be the one to tell him he had the taste of a future pimp.

So, I calmly dressed up in my new hooker outfit confident that no one but us would ever see it.   Red silk short, short gown that was NOT tailor made for the size of my ass.  Sheer red silk matching robe with huge white hearts on it. I smiled and put it on. My son thought I was a vision and kept repeating "You look so pretty Mommy, you have to wear it all day!"  I had his eyes examined the following week. In his defense they did find a tiny bit of vision loss in one eye which was later corrected with surgery.

Then The Devil's Advocate proudly hands me gift #2. A small box. I was thinking since it was so small if it was something else I had to wear then at least it wouldn't be so noticeable. Earrings, but earrings that came down past my shoulders, three huge red enamel hearts. At least they matched the hooker outfit.  I smiled and put them on.

He then gives me gift #3. After having been tricked into false hope with the small box I admit to a tiny bit of fear upon seeing this box was larger. Shoes. But wait...not just any shoes...nope, not my son!  Bright red slip on high heeled slippers with feathers and rhinestones across the top. I smiled and put them on. I was now ready for the street corner.

Since my husband was cooking breakfast when one of my Siberian Huskies(who was in the house while the kennels were being built) had to go outside to potty I volunteered.  I hooked his long lead on, cracked open the door and still standing inside out of the cold and snow let him out.  Normally he would have just ran down the deck, done his business and run back in.   But that day, it was a Sunday morning, he sees a squirrel and being a Husky it was on!  He took off after the squirrel, I was still attached to his lead so out the door I flew too, across the icy deck.  I fell and he drug me across the deck, down the steps and out into the middle of the yard.  Now this dog's call name was Demon (compliments of my daughter) so the whole time I was yelling "Stop Demon, your killing me"!  When we finally stopped I looked up to see my very religious, staid neighbors getting in their car to go to church, elderly mother in tow.  The shocked look on their faces was something I will never forget.  Nor will I forget the look on the paramedic's faces who had to be called because of my severely broken ankle.

I retired my lovely outfit after that day and threatened my husband if he ever let that particular child pick out anything else for me again there would be hell to pay.  The whole 3 yrs those neighbors lived in our neighborhood they never once spoke to us.  I might not have helped things by opening the back door and yelling "Demons!" every time I saw them outside, it was fun to see how fast they would run back into their house. I really don't think they ever made the connection that the dog's name was Demon and that I wasn't really being attacked by the legion of demons they were sure lived in my house.

Since my sons, who are now 17 yrs old, are such a giving children and constantly bringing me in some kind of gift,  I thank God that their tastes have improved. I think I got them away from their father just in time.