Wednesday, February 15, 2017

February 15, 2017

Dear Diary,

Today was Valentines Day and I was a little sad.  Nothing is the same as it was this time last year, when everything was coming up roses.  Now the only thing coming up is the Cream of Wheat I had for breakfast, because the Mirtazapine can cause tummy upset.  I read that on the bottle.

It's hard to believe that Bill and I have been a couple for as long as we have. We started out as teenagers.  Two law students with barely a nickel between us, but that didn't matter.  We had each other and our dreams and that was enough.  We used to sit by the window at our favorite little coffee shop, making plans about fleecing arabs, oblique national health plans and wiping e-mail servers.  It was a different time, though.  In those days, nobody even knew about Tor or the dark web.

Bill was so much more romantic in those days.  We were very poor, so every year, we'd celebrate the day after Valentines Day on the 15th instead of the 14th, because Bill said, "that way the Jewish florist couldn't charge as much for flowers."  He would call me on the 14th, though, usually from a friend's apartment, letting me know he'd be by just as soon as he'd finished off some bimbo some important business he was working on.

Say what you like about Bill, he was always romantic and knew how to make a woman feel important and wanted.  On some occasions it resulted in a subpoena, but most of the time, we'd work extra hours at the library to earn enough to settle the case. We worked hard, but Bill never complained.  He was always so confident, taking my hand and reassuring me that those who didn't settle would eventually disappear come around.  And they did!

These days, I look at all those poor young people who apparently can't meet each other unless they use some sort of game on their telephones.  Chelsea used to spend hours in the living room armchair making awful monkey faces and muttering things like, "Swipe left! Swipe left!"  She was terribly discouraged that nobody was "swiping right" to meet her, which is understandable when you take into account that Chel's not terribly photogenic.  I'm sure if more gentlemen had been interested in wide mouth bass, she would have gotten a lot more attention.

Anyway, diary, I may not have more than a home, grandchildren and a few hundred million in arab money stashed offshore, but I still have my Valentines memories.  And that's what counts.

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