That’s right. I said, “Valentine’s Day.” Even though it’s only the beginning of January.

Have I ever mentioned how very much I hate that holiday? It is, to quote Joel Barish in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, “a holiday invented by greeting card companies to make people feel like crap.” The latter part doesn’t really apply to me, since I’m happily married. It’s the fact that Hallmark, FTD, and Russell Stover all want to dictate when men give the woman in their lives a little bit of attention. Even worse are those idiotic jewelry commercials that make men feel like shit if they don’t fork over a year’s salary for a gaudy, disgusting diamond covered monstrosity.

Here’s my idea of a romantic gift. A few days ago I used up the last of my Cascade dishwashing liquid. The next night my hubby came home with a brand new jug of it. Why is that romantic?

1.) I didn’t ask him for it. I didn’t even tell him we’d run out. The jug made that funky farting noise that happens when there’s more air left inside than soap. He heard it, knew what it meant, remembered it, and bought me a new one.

2.) He got the right scent. (Melon…I love the way it makes my kitchen smell.)

3.) Did I mention that I didn’t have to ask him to pick me up a jug of dishwashing liquid?

I’ll take a jug of Cascade over a card with a corny poem my husband didn’t write, a dozen roses that’ll make me sneeze, a box of chocolates that’ll go right to my ass, and a diamond that some abused little kid dug out of a mine any day. Even Valentine’s Day.