Alan would like the record to reflect the following, which I have agreed to stipulate:
1) It wasn’t his idea to get me a Scum Buster for V-Day. For years, I have asked for one. Recalling our experience with the Black & Decker Snake Light (underpowered, broke almost immediately), he always thought this was a joke. Finally, after about three successive Christmases when I said, “I guess Santa forgot my Scum Buster,” he said, “You’re serious, aren’t you?” And I replied, “You betcha.” He said, “Maybe for Valentine’s Day.” (He wasn’t serious.)
2) V-Day was not particularly romantic in our house because I was working the 6-9 news-farming shift and was unable to make a fancy dinner or even buy a bottle of wine. Nevertheless, as 9 p.m. approached and Kate went to bed, I said, “I guess I STILL don’t get my Scum Buster. I guess I’ll have to buy it MYSELF.” And on and on until finally he brought out the brand-new deluxe model with on-board cleaner reservoir and nine-count-’em-nine attachments. It was a very exciting moment.
To those who believe this gift shows a lack of romance, all I can say is this: While a clean bathroom doesn’t exactly get me hot, a filthy one is a real buzzkill.
(For our first V-Day, Alan bought me pearl earrings. I wore them at our wedding and still wear them several times a week. One had to be replaced after Spriggy the Puppy possibly ate it, or maybe it went through the vacuum cleaner. So it’s not like the man doesn’t have any romance in his soul.)
(And what did I get him? I baked some cupcakes. What do I look like, Venus?)
OK, then. Off to get my car tinkered with. I’m taking “The Looming Tower” and at least one crime novel, and plan to switch back and forth between them.
Talk amongst yourselves. I’ll be back later.