For husbands, Valentine's Day is a no-win proposition. You are supposed to "get your wife something to prove your love," but the only things available are essentially meaningless: candy, jewelry, clothes, flowers, cards, etc. Those things cannot prove love. They can only prove that you have cash (or credit) and 15 minutes to go shopping.
Everything you buy her is, after all, precisely like everything else of that type in the world. There are no "special candies" that only you can purchase. There are no "special flowers" just for you to purchase (you buy a pre-designed set). Everything you buy ultimately comes down to "Valentine's Day Special No. 10," or whatever it is called at the shop where they make it. They even have special Valentine's Day lingerie sales, at which you can purchase a "special" lingerie set just precisely like 100,000 other sets being sold today.
It is frustrating to be told, on the one hand, that you must "do something,": but, on the other hand, to know there is nothing that can be done that is really meaningful.
I have been married 31 years. How can I sum up 31 years in a single gift? I remember the girl I married and the woman she has grown to be and there is no box of candy that can cover 31 years of sharing our lives. Will a flower mean as much as the times she has nursed me when I've been ill? Will a bracelet make her understand how precious she has been all these years?
I remember tears and fears and great disappointments we have shared. I remember a lost child. I remember days of joy and days of unhappiness. We have disagreed and we have agreed and we have prepared lunches for thousands of days of school for our children, but there is no card that can cover all those things.
We have packed and moved and settled and then packed and moved and settled again. We have lived in Georgia, in Connecticut, in Rhode Island, in Georgia again, in Connecticut again, in Rhode Island again. We have moved from Rhode Island to Washington State, and from Washington State to Georgia and back again and back yet again. What diamond can cover all those miles?
We have raised four children together, with all that is entailed in that work. We have lived together and shared our bed for 31 years. What gift of lingerie would be sufficient to cover that faithfulness and love?
The trouble with Valentine's Day isn't the idea, that is, to do something to remind wives that they are loved. The problem with Valentine's Day is that there is nothing we can do that comes close to what we already do every day and have done every day. Anything we give, and we almost always give something, is meaningless compared to what it is supposed to represent.
Marketers stand ready to reduce 31 years of my life to chocolate-covered cherries or a necklace or a nightgown. But they are wrong. Nothing can represent my life with my wife except that life itself. And noone can reduce my love to a box of chocolates.
So, whatever it is I may get, my wife and I will know that it is not really important. It is not a gift to "represent my love," but just a gift to get a smile from the woman I love. And, after all, a smile is a nice thing to see after 31 years together.
Everything you buy her is, after all, precisely like everything else of that type in the world. There are no "special candies" that only you can purchase. There are no "special flowers" just for you to purchase (you buy a pre-designed set). Everything you buy ultimately comes down to "Valentine's Day Special No. 10," or whatever it is called at the shop where they make it. They even have special Valentine's Day lingerie sales, at which you can purchase a "special" lingerie set just precisely like 100,000 other sets being sold today.
It is frustrating to be told, on the one hand, that you must "do something,": but, on the other hand, to know there is nothing that can be done that is really meaningful.
I have been married 31 years. How can I sum up 31 years in a single gift? I remember the girl I married and the woman she has grown to be and there is no box of candy that can cover 31 years of sharing our lives. Will a flower mean as much as the times she has nursed me when I've been ill? Will a bracelet make her understand how precious she has been all these years?
I remember tears and fears and great disappointments we have shared. I remember a lost child. I remember days of joy and days of unhappiness. We have disagreed and we have agreed and we have prepared lunches for thousands of days of school for our children, but there is no card that can cover all those things.
We have packed and moved and settled and then packed and moved and settled again. We have lived in Georgia, in Connecticut, in Rhode Island, in Georgia again, in Connecticut again, in Rhode Island again. We have moved from Rhode Island to Washington State, and from Washington State to Georgia and back again and back yet again. What diamond can cover all those miles?
We have raised four children together, with all that is entailed in that work. We have lived together and shared our bed for 31 years. What gift of lingerie would be sufficient to cover that faithfulness and love?
The trouble with Valentine's Day isn't the idea, that is, to do something to remind wives that they are loved. The problem with Valentine's Day is that there is nothing we can do that comes close to what we already do every day and have done every day. Anything we give, and we almost always give something, is meaningless compared to what it is supposed to represent.
Marketers stand ready to reduce 31 years of my life to chocolate-covered cherries or a necklace or a nightgown. But they are wrong. Nothing can represent my life with my wife except that life itself. And noone can reduce my love to a box of chocolates.
So, whatever it is I may get, my wife and I will know that it is not really important. It is not a gift to "represent my love," but just a gift to get a smile from the woman I love. And, after all, a smile is a nice thing to see after 31 years together.