Valentine’s Day, 11 am:
Well, it’s here again: The Valentine’s Day gun to my head. I decided to write a post today that is continually updated with increasing levels of desperation as I scramble to find a suitable gift for my wife. Please post suggestions, as I can honestly state that any idea will be given my full consideration.
I’m really hoping I can deliver a clutch performance when the pressure is on. I’m looking for some last minute heroics, a real buzzer beater here, instead of the epic choke that appears imminent.
Of course, if I spent a fraction of the time I will spend writing about how I can’t come up with a gift idea actually researching some gift ideas, none of this would matter in the first place.
And on that note, I’m going to wander over to the vending machines and Lost and Found box in our office to see if there are any suitable gifts to be had…
Valentine’s Day, 12:02 pm:
Well, the Lost and Found box was a big disappointment, although I did find some Star Wars action figures that I thought were stolen. My file cabinet felt naked without a recreation of the battle for the Moon of Endor sitting on top of it.
And the vending machines were equally lackluster. It was a long shot to begin with, but I thought that maybe if they had a peanut butter Twix I might be able to pass that off as an acceptable Valentine’s Day gift. No luck though, just regular Twix. We all know that won’t fly.
This probably goes without saying, but vending machines are generally not a good place to do your gift shopping. This is especially true of vending machines in men’s rooms. Trust me, despite claims to the contrary; a novelty condom will not drive her wild.
I can feel the first twinge of sweat proliferating on my brow…
Valentine’s Day, 1:53 pm:
Finally, the first stroke of good luck: I’ve got dinner plans taken care of. It was hectic there for awhile. First, I was calling restaurants offering to tip well, bus my own table, provide my own candlelight, eat standing up, whatever it would take to secure a reservation… No dice.
Then I started dialing restaurants pretending to be a celebrity hoping it would cause a table to suddenly open up. So, I began calling restaurants delivering my dead-on impersonations of Mayor Quimby (from the Simpsons), Pee Wee Herman, Chewbacca, former president Bill Clinton, and Kermit the Frog. Not surprisingly, this plan backfired as well.
It wasn’t until a Chinese Restaurant fell for my “regional health inspector” routine that I landed a table… suckers. As long as my wife doesn’t mind me carrying a clipboard to dinner and excusing myself periodically to inspect the kitchen for health code violations, this has all the makings of a romantic evening…
Valentine’s Day, 2:46 pm:
Thanks for all the suggestions… Good work gentlemen.
Gabe suggested that I get my wife her own Xbox for Valentine’s Day. I’ve actually thought about this from time to time. Every so often though, she asks if she can play “MarioKart” on the Xbox. Obviously, she’s clearly not ready for an Xbox.
Solo, thanks for the advice. Although, I’ll need to find a “Hip-Hop to English” dictionary to translate it.
Booth, also provided some solid advice. Next year I’ll begin laying the groundwork weeks in advance to get out of finding a gift. I really should have set aside some of the gifts I purchased for her on Groundhog’s Day…
Valentine’s Day, 3:58 pm:
This is starting to shape up like an episode of “24.” Although I kind of doubt Jack Bauer would switch spots with me. Battling terrorists and stopping a nuclear apocalypse is nothing compared to scrambling to find a last minute gift on Valentine’s Day.
I’ll admit, things are getting desperate. I may even have to stoop to calling the International Star Registry. This is the last ditch effort for many pathetic men. For $39, this organization allows you to name a star after someone special and place it in the International Star Registry. Believe me, this is a horrible gift idea. First off, anytime a trip to the local observatory is required to actually see your present, you know you’ve given a pretty crappy gift. And when it comes to gifts, in general, if it’s not visible with the naked eye, it’s not worth giving.
Finally, it is said that there are as many stars in the universe as grains of sand on earth. Think about that. There’s literally a zillion stars out there. So, I’ve decided to take it one step further. I’m going to name a grain of sand after my wife as her Valentine’s Day gift. I’ve already picked it out too. It’s located in the backyard, near the mailbox. It’s kind of brownish in color… Happy Valentine’s Day Sweetheart!”
Well, I’m heading out to meet my wife for dinner. Good times. While I’ve spent the day writing this post, I’m sure she’s spent the day filing divorce papers. I’m sure she knows me well enough to know I always have a trick up my sleeve…
Valentine’s Day, 6:32 pm:
I hope you didn’t think I’d leave this post with a cliffhanger like that… I know you all need closure to this running diary.
The truth is, all along, I had planned to surprise my wife with tickets to the Gonzaga game on Thursday. Honestly, the list for tickets for these events surpasses organ donor waiting lists in length. In other words, surprising my wife with Gonzaga tickets was harder than surprising her with the Holy Grail.
So how did I pull off this fourth quarter magic? Aside from having a dominant “Elway” gene, I also have a friend with connections to the Gonzaga athletic department. A relentless campaign of groveling emails and phone calls over the last week to the aforementioned connection eventually ended with a pair of tickets that saved my marriage.
Valentine’s Day, 7:08 pm:
Well, it’s time for me to join my wife in the hot tub with a bottle of wine. Unfortunately, I won’t be updating you on the rest of the evening… (unless it ends up involving the Xbox, which is likely.)