Feb. 14 Recap: I love me MORE; You look a little drunk.

Screen Shot 2014-02-15 at 3.01.31 PMI’ve never been a big fan of February 14th, except to celebrate Happy Anna Howard Shaw Day*. So when I tell you that I spent the whole day (and well into the night of said day) blowing snot rags and sucking on alternating bottles of DayQuil™ and NyQuil™, you could hardly be surprised. If you tell me that that is what I get for doing poorly on making The Call and showing up to work on one of the worst snow days of the year (Thanks, Mayor DeBlasio!)…well, my mother agrees with you.

Suffice it to say, while I don’t recognize Feb. 14th personally, I don’t begrudge anyone else their appreciation of small naked babies assaulting innocents with sharp objects [pretty creepy holiday mascot, if you ask me]. Despite my orneriness, I believe love, appreciation, and chocolate should be everyday expressions of humanity. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a very sentimental or emotionally expressive person, but the general rule of tell-people-you-care-for-them-before-they-die holds for me. And while I don’t have the super-reliable science of Dr. Phil behind me on this, I believe I can love better [romantically, familial-ly, etc.], as long as I love me more. That’s the love I work on the most.

Then comes the morning after Feb. 14th. Have been too tired to cook, or shop properly for comforting breakfast foodstuffs, so venture out to a local diner for breakfast. I realize we’ve been overcharged for the pancakes (I notice things like a $5 jump in price). I go up to pay, but politely explain to the cashier/manager of some sort? that we were charged the wrong price for that item. Here is our conversation:

Cashier: “Well this looks they charged you the brunch rate. Did you get the brunch?”  
Me: “No we ordered from the regular menu, in fact we were charged separately for our coffee and tea.” 
Cashier: “So you didn’t get the brunch with the mimosa or anything?”
Me: “Nope.”
Cashier: “Oh, well, you look a little drunk, so…” 

So, going out to breakfast amid a NyQuil ™ haze is probably not as sexy as a love hangover. I’ll try to remember that next time. Not the next time I come back to that place, of course. That won’t be happening. But I’ll remember the other stuff.

*Thanks to the fun folks at 30 Rock for spreading the knowledge about Anna Howard Shaw: