Seat of Our Pants

Having lived most of my life in Sweden, I never had any particular feelings about Valentine’s day. There are some halfhearted attempts at celebrating it there nowadays – cards and flowers and chocolate boxes, but nothing that could prepare me for the fully developed American institution.

It was after I met my wife that I had to rethink my indifference. After a few clumsy initial attempts, we instituted the Manentine’s and Fementines’ Day: a Valentine’s day with a manly or feminine twist. We have Manentine’s day on odd years, and Fementine’s on evens.

Last Manentine’s I took Wifey to an Ice Hockey Game. We swilled beer and ate hot dogs and cheered for the Edmonton Oilers. We won, 4-3. Good times. The following year’s Fementines saw us having tea at San Francisco’s Ghirardelli Square – a fantastically lacy, frilly and feminine affair, complete with pink champagne. We ended the night with a marathon cat petting session and a movie.

This year, I had very little time to plan anything spectacular. I asked around here in Mandalay, but no one knew of a place where we could shoot guns, drink beer or even go look at WWII battlefields. Luckily, I found a nice antique dealer in town, so my treat this year was to go look at Naga head hunter relics. Wifey did not buy the human skull parts on sale, instead opting for something that’s probably not going to haunt our future home. That’s okay with me.

It is now one year til the next Fementine’s, and I can’t help but wonder where we will be then, and what we will be doing. Whatever it is, I’m betting it is going to be very, very girly.

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