"Happy Valentine's Day" by Troy H. Cheek on Feb 14, 2005

As St. Valentine's Day approaches each year, people ask me to tell them some of the funny stories I've made up about romantic relationships I've been in over the years.

I don't make up funny stories about the relationships I've been in. The only funny thing is that I'm not some out of work comic practicing my act for you people. This stuff really happens to me.

Besides, I can't tell you about any particular relationship, even if I change the names to protect the innocent. Every relationship I've had is pretty much the same as any other. No matter which one I tell you about, every woman I've ever dated is going to call up and say "Why did you have to use ME as an example?" Then they will carry on for a while about how I'm Satan incarnate. I'm the worst person they've ever dated. I almost ruined the entire concept of sex for them for the rest of their lives. Then they'll ask me if I'm seeing anybody right now.

"Yes, I am," I'll answer. "And, by the way, how's your husband?"

The worst thing I ever discovered about husbands is not that they invariably collect firearms and work at construction sites where they have access to 10 foot deep areas of freshly poured concrete. Instead, the worst thing about husbands is that wives forget to mention that they have them. You'd think that in those hours-long conversations about themselves where they tell you everything from their first-grade teacher's name to the location of that little mole that you might some day get to see, they'd mention the husband and two kids waiting at home.

I read an article in a nature magazine which seemed to conclude that the only thing a male bird had to do to make sure his mate remained faithful was to run off all the other male birds from his territory. That's one little house wren in for a heartache.

I personally never had any luck trying to date more than one woman at a time. Even dating one woman is like dating more than one woman at a time. One day you can do no wrong. The next you can do no right. One day a concern about her weight is sweet, touching, and maybe funny. The next day the same comment is cruel. One day I'm the world's worst boyfriend because I don't remember the 2 month anniversary of our third date (and what she wore). A week later I can forget her name and she just rolls her eyes and says that's to be expected of a man.

My private name for every woman I've ever dated is Sybil.

I've never quite been able to figure out exactly how this Valentine guy became the patron saint of chocolate and mushy red cards. I couldn't figure out what that had to do with running all the snakes out of Ireland, but then somebody told me that was Patrick. I think Al Capone really knew how to celebrate the holiday, though.

Did you ever notice how when you DON'T want people's advice about a relationship, they're constantly giving it to you, but when you NEED people to tell you stuff, they clam up?

"Hey, Troy, about that girl you used to date," said my friend Bob the other day.

"Which one?" I asked.

"Y'know, my friend from school, the one you almost married," chimed in his loverly wife, Barb.

After racking my brains for a few minutes (it's a small rack), I confessed that I still had no idea what they were talking about.

Bob sighed. "You KNOW, ol' what's her face that used to walk around at school talking about Troy-this and Troy-that, about how you hung the moon and stars? The one with the long blonde hair and the really big, um..." He glanced at his wife. "...personalities? You KNOW, the one that said she'd never in a million years get up the nerve to tell you how she felt?"

Still in the dark, I mumbled "Yeah, what about her?"

"Oh, she just got married to that dweeb from typing class that you and Bob used to beat up all the time." Barb seemed to think that was funny. "Too bad you let her slip through your fingers. She was a really nice girl."

"And, why," I forced through clenched teetch, "if you knew how she felt about me back then, did you not mention it to me?"

The loverly Barb looked offended. "Oh, Troy, you know we'd never pry into your affairs. We knew you wouldn't want us meddling."

"Meddle next time! Meddle, damn you! Meddle!"

This ranks right up there with the friend who tells you how glad he/she was to find out that your latest girlfriend dropped you, that you deserve better than someone who would cheat on you for months.

"If you knew she was cheating on me, why didn't you mention it?"

"Oh, I didn't want to meddle."

"Meddle next time! Meddle, damn you! Meddle!"

Sometimes, I think I know exactly how Charlie Brown feels, right after he misses the football and realizes he's flying through the air about to make a painful landing.

Again.

All because of a woman.

But it's not just because of a woman.

It's because his friends keep letting him try.

So do mine. And so I will.

Happy Valentine's Day, Kitten. Be mine? I love you. And rest assured that none of the above applies to you in any way.

Really.

Copyright 2005 by Troy H. Cheek. Reprint with prior written permission only. Comments and questions to