One Thing for Sure, Love Stinks

Valentine's Day Enchilada Pork Chops

Love is one thing, romance is another.  Valentine's day in my head was always connected to the latter. Exaggerated, extravagant gestures. Storybook type affairs. Really pouring it on, as my mom would say.  I'd say unnecessary silliness.  I never bought into any of that fantasy-type adoration.  So Valentine's Day is a bit of a sneer for me.  I over think things though generally.  Couldn't it just be a day to give a little shout out to your loved one?  Sure.  And I could actually get with that.  If...But P is not romantic in any shape or form either. In fact, he winces a little when I lean in for a kiss or hug.  He likes me, more now than before, I think anyway.  But then why wouldn't he?  I'm a live-in maid and cook.  What's not to like?  I don't harass him because I don't bother people.

Actually, I think we're both just really surprised we could not only tolerate but truly enjoy another human for this many years, so we don't fool with it.  You live some years and learn some things.  As a matter of fact my humble opinion is love forming between partners is taught in the worst possible way ever to kids.  We're first people, without all these male or female characteristics.  Love is science and chemistry.  Love is also a muscle. Love has mass and exists. It's ugly and mean and messy.  The best coaching would have been to just tell us, no one understands it.  Unlike black holes, no one can figure this shit. Passion is more like happiness.  You can't be romantic, but there are moments when it's in the air like a mist.  Enchantment and fascination is sorcery at work and they all defy laws of logic. 

So, dinner.  With all the romance thrown in the food so its more palatable.  And he doesn't have to talk to me, which is my little gift to him. His favorite, my mom's enchilada sauce over a grilled pork chop on a bed of cool iceberg lettuce and onions. Topped with freshly made pico de gallo.  Confetti corn and black rice.