From kindergarten on, Valentine's Day can be a traumatic experience for some. Society puts a lot at stake on the holiday, with hearts broken and egos bruised when things fail to meet our expectations. I believe that I dodged most of that growing up, but my wife can attest that I was never much good at Valentine's Day while we were dating. In the married years I have aimed to keep the gestures small but meaningful, mostly because she is the wonderful kind of woman that desires heartfelt expressions instead of the awesome power of MasterCard. So, I endeavor to do just that -- keep it meaningful.
After work today, I went to Walgreens to pick up a card and a few other tokens of affection. While waiting to make my purchase, I left my place in line and picked out one of the foil balloons. It was a round one, not very large. Being a graphic design geek, I went for the one with the nice font and elements in a good proportion to each other. My loot in hand, I went back to the registers. I noticed one item had a price printed directly on the same tag that one would use to fill out a "to" and "from" card, making it impossible to not broadcast exactly how much you spent on the token gift. I smiled a bit and wondered if anyone thought about that before buying thousands of them to distribute to the company's stores nationwide.
After I paid, I walked out the door and pulled lightly on the balloon to get it through the door facing. I reached for my keys in the same motion, and ...
Snap.
I was holding a smiley face balloon weight in my left hand. It was the only thing that was smiling. My balloon rose quickly in the February afternoon breeze. I stood there for a moment watching it sail across the street, climbing higher and higher over the Jack-in-the-Box I occasionally visit. For a moment, I was 23 years younger and on the verge of a meltdown because my most favorite thing in the whole wide world had just been taken from me. I recovered. The other patrons walking in and out of the store paused too, nobody saying anything. It was if I could hear their thoughts in unison: "Aw man, that sucks."
I sighed, and took the rest of the stuff to the car. I walked back in the store to get another balloon, but decided against it. The matching balloon was partially deflated, and there was no guarantee that the sticky piece that held it tethered would not snap just like the other one. I got back in the car and drove home. I have already given Samantha the smiley face balloon weight, along with this story. (She laughed.)
I am sure there is some deep metaphor floating somewhere in the breeze around northern Davidson County, but for now I am simply going to go get ready for our 5K run/walk in the morning.