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Romance is in the air
We went out
with another couple on Saturday night and they asked us how long
we’ve been married. “Thirty-three years,” Steve and I answered
almost simultaneously. I saw their eyes widen and realized that
my husband and I are probably not the norm when it comes to
married couples these days. We’ve been married for a long time
and have known each other for even longer. We must look really
well preserved because sometimes people ask us if we met in
kindergarten.
But as many of
you already know we first laid eyes on each other in high
school, sophomore history to be exact. But it wasn’t until our
junior year that we really got to know each other, so we were 16
when we met, 17 when we started dating. If anyone out there is
doing the math that means we’ve known each other for over 43
years.
I was looking
through my desk calendar last week when I noticed something that
I had jotted down in red pen. On February 12 I had written, “Our
first date” and drawn a heart around the words. How had I never
realized that our first date occurred so close to Valentine’s
Day?
Every year I
look forward to Valentine’s Day. Shatz hates it because he
considers it a phony holiday, but I get sucked into the hearts,
flowers, chocolate and romance even after all these years, or
perhaps I should say especially after all these years. There
were many years when the girls were little when I turned it into
a mother-daughter day, buying them chocolates and cards and
making a special dinner for them. And then one year I sent out
cards to all my friends thanking them for their friendship, but
suddenly these last few years I’m back to romance.
I was actually
annoyed that February 14 comes on a Sunday this year because
that means that all the restaurants will be crazy on Saturday
night. Shatz and I agreed that we’d rather stay home and have
dinner in front of the fireplace. For a few days we thought that
Mariel was coming in that weekend, but when she realized that
the weekend included Valentine’s Day she elected to stay home. I
was kind of relieved because I was really looking forward to a
tęte-ŕ-tęte with my husband. I seem to have a real need for
romance lately.
And now that I
realize that it’s also the anniversary of our first date, I want
it even more. I’m being perverse because as much as I adore my
husband, romantic is not the first word that comes to mind when
I think of him. He will never whisk me away to a secluded
island, or buy me five dozen red roses, or hide a diamond ring
in my chocolate mousse. For him love is much more substantial
than champagne bubbles. It’s an everyday
get-up-in-the-morning-face-life-together-and-fall-into-bed-still-together-at-the-end-of-the-day
thing. And I agree with him completely, but every now and then a
girl needs champagne bubbles. But after our first date I should
have suspected that he was no Errol Flynn.
The first hint
was the timing of our date — we went out on a Saturday
afternoon, not usually a heavily romantic time. Then it turned
out that yes, he asked me to a Broadway show, but only because
his parents had tickets they couldn’t use. And when his mom told
him to ask someone out he originally asked his good friend
Charlie. I got an invitation only when Charlie couldn’t make it.
So right from the beginning it was clear that this man would not
sweep me off my Keds.
But I accepted
happily because I thought he was cute. I spent hours picking out
the perfect dress and working on my hairdo and make-up. To his
credit, Shatz dressed in a sports jacket and dress slacks though
the color of his jacket was blindingly gold. Off we went on our
subway ride into Manhattan.
For months we
had been really friendly in class, chatting up a storm and for
my part, flirting like crazy, so we were anything but strangers.
So I couldn’t understand why he refused to take my hand or get
too close to me and why our conversation was about as lively as
a funeral. I couldn’t figure out what had gotten into my cute
guy from English class. Months later he would tell me that he
was so nervous that day that he could barely swallow let alone
speak. You see, I was his first date ever.
The rest of
the afternoon didn’t get that much better. The play was
wonderful and afterwards our hamburger and fries dinner at
Schraftt’s on Fifth Avenue was yummy, but the only time he took
my hand was when we crossed the street. Finally, when he walked
me to my door I decided to take things into my own hands. As he
stood there stiffly, wishing me good-night in about as dashing a
manner as a leper, I grabbed him and kissed him on the lips.
When I let him go he was a little dazed, but there was a
definite smile on his face.
So, like our
first date, I‘m going to have to take the initiative when it
comes to romance this Valentine’s Day. After all, if it’s
champagne I want I’m going to have to supply the bubbles.
February 11, 2010
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