Pretty please

When you spend your life married to a restaurant, you live your life by a different calendar than those with "real jobs." Certain days of the year, if you want to make money, are absolute musts. Days like: Easter, Fourth of July (and the rest of summer), Memorial Day, Labor Day, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve (someplaces Christmas Day) and Valentine's Day. It doesn't matter what type of restauant you work in, these days are guaranteed to be the busiest.

So you throw away your Gregorian Calendar and you make do. You vacation in winter, you watch the fireworks from the dining room, you watch six thousand couples kiss their way through salmon gravlax and you learn to celebrate the day after.

This Valentine's we realized was the first that we could actually spend together, holding each others' hands and not a picky eaters. I had no idea what to do, my entire life, pre-teen until now, has been spent not planning but working these events.

We finally decided to take the orbiter with us and go out for pizza and beer (always good to get your child drunk on a school night) because when you think about it; the holiday is stupid and no one should be forced to be all romantic on queue.

Later on, I joked with my husband that it being "the most romantic day of the year" we were obliged to have sex. He turned quickly and informed me that he was in no way having sex because the day demanded it!

What if I demand it?

Allright, but you gotta say please.

Puh-lleeaase!