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The
Big Fat Deflated Balloon of Valentine’s Bliss
By Erin Ann McBride and Juli Hiatt Caldwell, Messengers
of Love, Hoarders of Chocolate
It
is three days till Valentine's Day. Men, that means it is on
Monday. Start ordering the flowers now. Convinced you will or
won’t get something this year? Read on!
I
blame Sarah. It’s her fault that I fell in love in the
first place.
There
I sat in choir, acting the part of the self-important
high school senior, when the Valentines’ deliveries began.
As a fundraiser, our school had sold balloons and flowers
the week before the holiday. We could send messages of
love or friendship, and the sellers were in the process
of delivering all the items. I kept looking at the instructor
and singing, unlike many other girls who looked with feverish
intensity at the door, hoping each time it swung open
the next delivery would be for her.
We
were in the middle of preparing for the spring choral
competitions, and I thought the director was going to
rip her hair out when the door swung open for the 89th
time that hour. I was just singing my part when the delivery
girl stopped in front of me and handed me a red and white
balloon. Initially I thought she was trying to reach
someone behind me, so I scooted aside like the nice person
I am. But she wouldn’t move! She very persistently kept
telling me that the balloon was for me.
I’m
sure the look of shock on my face amused the class, because
they actually burst into laughter when I insisted it couldn’t
be mine. The delivery girl left to complete her mission
of love while I read the note: “From your secret admirer.”
How
unfair! How cruel is it to give someone you love a present
on the day girls fantasize about getting presents but
not sign your name? Talk about a supreme act of cowardice.
Love Always Wins
Still,
my hopelessly romantic heart eventually beat up my inner
pessimist, and I spent the last part of class ignoring
the fact that my arm had fallen asleep from holding that
balloon up and to the side, so the students behind me
could see the instructor, but who are we kidding? It was
Valentine’s Day, we were getting presents, and no one
was listening anyway.
I
must have read that card a hundred times during the last
two classes of the day. Who admired me? Who liked me
enough to send me a card? I was a rather shy girl who
gave the term ‘late bloomer’ an entirely new meaning.
I don’t think I hit my full stride until my early 20’s,
and I was just awkward and clueless enough to make guys
look past me to the cute girl right behind me and ask
her out. I had only been on one date up to that point,
and I couldn’t imagine that the guy had enjoyed it enough
to send me a Valentine’s balloon two years later!
My
overactive imagination stampeded away with me, as it usually
does, and I talked about that ridiculous balloon for weeks.
My questions, analysis, and hyper speculation lasted munch
longer than the actual balloon, which fell prey to my
frisky cat’s claws. I talked about it so much, in fact,
that one of my friends told me she would tell me who did
it if I would just stop talking about it! I nervously
agreed, thinking that I would find my one true love with
her words of revelation.
It
was Sarah. A friend had sent me that balloon to make
me feel good after I had walked past the table where they
sold the goods, grumbling in disgust that it was all a
waste of money. She not only sent me a balloon, she gave
me hope and made me believe in a holiday that I had never
believed in before. It was all her fault!
Fast
Forward a Few Years in the Future
It
was my freshman year of college. I still wasn’t the type
of girl who dated much. I was still a wallflower, but
starting to bloom. I had met a nice returned missionary
and we were engaged to be engaged. I’m still not sure
what that means, but back then it meant one thing – I
was finally going to get something on Valentine’s Day.
I
had taken a part-time job to supplement my income that
semester. I needed more money to spend on the man I thought
I loved. A job was offered to me with the campus florist,
and I gladly accepted. How romantic, I thought! I will
be able to pick my wedding bouquets and get paid for it!
The
florist’s shop was a complete and total madhouse on Valentine’s
Day. I was filling orders and running around with the
other twenty employees, smiling and hoping that the order
waiting for us at home would be bigger and better than
the one we were filling. And of course, with each beautiful
order of roses I filled, I quickly checked to see if my
almost fiancé had placed it just for me.
After
six hours on my feet my back and feet were killing me.
But worst of all, I was developing allergies. All the
flowers were creating an allergic reaction in me never
before witnessed by mankind. Every additional flower
I touched made my eyes swell that much more. I couldn’t
breathe through my nose. I was beginning to really hate
roses.
Finally, the end of the day came. One of the last orders I
filled was the one of six roses and a teddy bear to be
delivered to my almost fiancé. I was so proud of it.
I thought for sure he would love it. Granted, I hated
roses at this point, but it was the thought that counts.
He would love it.
Wiping
my runny nose I walked up the hill and back to my humble
little dorm room. I stumbled with my aching head into
my room and checked my messages. It was after 8 p.m.
and the love of my life (at least I thought so back then)
had still not called to profess his undying love for me.
I was a little ticked. I had cuts from thorns all over
my hands thanks to the hundreds of men who had thought
to profess their love to other women. Where were my well
earned tokens of affection? Too tired to think much longer,
I collapsed in my bed. Minutes later my phone rang, and
I thought for sure it would be him. Instead it was the
front desk calling to say a package had been delivered
for me.
Now,
who are we kidding? It was Valentine’s Day and I was
engaged to be engaged. I was expecting something good.
And by good I mean small, 1 carat, sparkly, with a gold
band. I don’t know that I expected him to drop that off
at the front desk for me, but I was expecting something
that rhymed with rhymin’ on this day of all Valentine’s
Days.
In
spite of the overwhelming sinus pressure and the eyes
so swollen I could barely see, I quickly jumped from bed
and got dressed and presentable. I rushed down to the
front desk, convinced that eternity was about to begin.
Breathlessly, I asked for my package. The woman behind
the counter handed me a small teddy bear holding six roses,
just like the gift I had gotten for my beloved, with the
receipt still attached. For a brief moment I thought
it was fate – we had picked the same gift for each other.
Until I looked at the receipt and saw my own handwriting.
They had delivered it to me instead of him. The big happy
look on my face deflated and I handed it back to the lady
at the counter. I asked her to check again, there had
to be something for me. But no, there was nothing.
I
went back up to my room, begged a friend for some Sudafed,
and lay down in bed, phone close at my side. The man
of my love would call any minute. I was sure of it.
Whatever he was planning, it was going to be good. After
all, it was getting late. It must mean it was going to
be candlelit!
The
allergy medicine kicked in quickly, and I was dead asleep.
About an hour later the phone rang. I sprang to life.
It was the front desk again! My heart leaped! My roommate
had a package. My heart deflated again. My roommate
was also out of town with her boyfriend for a few days.
I went downstairs and collected the dozen red Columbian
roses in a crystal vase waiting for her. Carrying them
back up to my room, I sneezed the entire way.
Within
minutes I was asleep again, phone by my side. Moments
later it rang again. I repeated the scene, springing
to life, answering the phone, etc. Right up to the part
where the front desk says my roommate has a package.
So again, I went down and collected another dozen red
roses. I couldn’t help myself this time. I checked the
card to see who was sending her flowers. It wasn’t her
boyfriend. It was a guy she hardly knew. How insensitive
of him! Didn’t he know that he was torturing me?
Again,
fell back asleep. This time for several hours. After
eleven p.m. some girls from my floor came to see if I
was officially engaged yet. (See, it wasn’t just me!
Everyone assumed he would propose!) When they saw two
dozen roses in my room they got very excited. And then
properly deflated when I said they were not for me. I
started sneezing again, and asked friends to please baby-sit
the roses until my roommate returned. No one turned me
down.
Upset
at being awake at eleven p.m. on Valentine’s Day and still
not engaged, I decided to finally give in and call the
man of the hour. But not to find out what had happened
to my diamond. I was sure he must have been hit by a
truck, fallen in a well, or worse. What else could possibly
keep him from seeing me on Valentine’s Day?!
After
three heart-stopping rings (oh no! he really was hit by
a truck!), he finally answered. I let out a sigh of relief.
And then he did the quite unexpected. He thanked me for
my gift. He had received it while stuck under the out
of control truck? I was so confused! He then proceeded
to explain that he had got back to his room late and didn’t
want to wake me. We had been attached at the hip, memorized
each other’s every move, and spent hours each night on
the phone, and suddenly on the day of love and arrows,
he didn’t want to wake me? It wasn’t even midnight yet!
He
then said, Hey, since you aren’t asleep, let’s meet in
the lobby for a minute.” My heart leapt again, and I
raced down to meet him. I wasn’t really expecting a ring.
At least, I was hoping he wouldn’t propose to me in the
lobby of my dorm. But I ran as fast as I could anyway.
He
was wearing a raggedy old t-shirt and jeans, and looked
totally disheveled. And in his hands he was holding a
small plastic container. The kind of plastic container
that you get at the salad bar if you get one of the small
salads. Definitely not the kind of container you put
a shiny engagement ring in.
He
told me he loved me, asked why my eyes were so swollen,
wished me a happy Valentine’s Day, blah blah blah, and
handed me the plastic container. Inside was a heart-shaped
sugar cookie with our names on it. And it was cracked.
I looked at the cookie and then looked at him hopefully.
This had to be the first gift, right? There was more
to come? He wasn’t really giving me a broken sugar cookie
with smeared frosting, was he??
He
smiled and reached behind the couch. I closed my eyes
convinced still that eternity would begin in just a few
breathless moments. He said “open them!” And I quickly
obeyed. And there it was…A great big, slightly deflated,
lopsided, Valentines Day balloon.
So Where Are We Now?
We
are a little bit smarter, a little bit wiser, and a little
bit thicker in the mid-section. We still watch the delivery
girl hopefully waiting to see if she has anything special
in her basket for us. We now appreciate the cards from
girlfriends and mothers. But still open the cards hoping
they will be from the man of our dreams professing his
never-ending love.
The
bottom line here is that it’s wonderful to get gifts on
Valentine’s Day, but don’t be disappointed if you don‘t
get a lavish gift from that someone special. Don’t be
surprised if you don’t get an engagement ring. When we
get right down to it, Valentine’s is a silly holiday to
being with. We prefer to call it Singles Awareness Day.
Why
do we need a holiday to dictate where and how we should
show love? I don’t think we do. We can show it all the
time, and we should.
Maybe
you’re one of the lucky girls or guys who has someone
to spoil this Valentine’s Day. Enjoy the day, but just
remember that it’s like Christmas – we need to give presents
of love all the time. We need to keep that spirit of
love with us all the time! If we depend on one over-hyped,
over-marketed day to inspire us to give the love we should
already be giving, we have a big problem.
And
if you don’t get what you expected this Valentine’s Day,
no worries! The chocolate is on 50% markdown the next
day. That’s where Juli and Erin plan to be the day after,
racing down the aisles with fully laden carts ala ‘SuperMarket
Sweep!’
Got
a great big deflated Valentines story to share with us?
Come join in the fun and send in your unbelievable stories!
Send us your best or worst story about the holiday that
should also be known as Excessive Chocolate Consumption
Day or Singles Awareness Day. As
always, all comments, compliments, cupids, Cadillacs,
cookies, candy, and more can be sent to us at erinandjuli@meridianmagazine.com!
(To
the men attempting to win the hearts of these two authors
on February 14, we will make it easy for you- roses [your
choice of color], foot rubs, dark chocolate, steak, and
a romantic comedy should do the trick. You’ve been reminded
twice!)
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