To my Valentine
For the past eight years, I’ve been blessed to have a wonderful Valentine who makes me feel special every single day.
Our first date was on Valentine’s Day. Well, that’s not really true. He meant to invite me out on Valentine’s Day, but didn’t get around to it until later in the week. He took me to a lovely Italian restaurant and made the mistake of allowing me to order the wine. I chose Barolo, one of my favorites from the Mr. Big era, and I had no idea it was $60 a bottle.
We had two.
Scott flinched a little when he was handed the bill. He wasn’t a rich guy; in fact, he’d just been through a pricey divorce in which he pretty much gave his ex-wife everything. When we got together eight years ago, he was driving a crappy little car, was in credit counselling and lived in a tiny apartment across from the garbage chute.
A few dates later, he took me to his apartment which had one chair, a single bed, a tiny television, a set of weights and a computer. And he’d taken off the bathroom door because the can was so small, he couldn’t turn around.
I knew he was a keeper.
It wasn’t long before I rescued Scott from his little cave and took him back to my place. I threw him into the fray, exposing him to three rambunctious teenagers and the pugs, Gordie and Ming. Pretty soon, Scott was tossing girls out of the boys’ bedrooms, driving home puking teenagers and carting Marissa all over Eastern Ontario for basketball.
He did all of this with good humor, and he saved me from my private hell.
He is now my husband and my best friend, a man who comforts me during my frequent journeys into panic and depression and celebrates our small, but satisfying victories.
He never stands still. When he isn’t hocking Subarus, he’s shooting wonderful videos, and when he isn’t doing that he’s building furniture in the backyard stopping only to down a few beers while making the best barbecue this side of New Orleans. He is hard-working, loyal and mostly, unflappable.
Eight years ago, he was a man with no children. Now he has three, who all think of him as their dad.
Tonight, he’s making me dinner, steak and shrimp on the barbie, even though he’ll be doing it in freezing rain.
Because he’s like that. A promise is a promise.
Thanks dear, for the times, good and bad. It’s been a ride.
Happy Valentine’s Day, to my sweetheart Scott.
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Rose Simpson
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