Should I Stay or Should I Go?
We never do the hearts and flowers and chocolates crap at the Tater House for Valentine's Day. Especially the flowers. Bad memories there.
Back in the day when I was dating the future Mrs. Tater, I was seeing another girl at the same time (two-timer, yep, that's me) but after a couple weeks of this I realized I couldn't afford them both, so around February I hit on a novel solution: I'd buy a dozen roses and divide them into two bunches of six, and send one bunch to each girl. The one who called to thank me first was in.
The future Mrs. Tater called first.
The other girl never did. I finally called her to ask if she got them and she said, "Oh, yeah, thanks."
Easiest decision I ever made.
Unfortunately, the dumbest decision I ever made was telling this story to Mrs. Tater; 27 years we're married and I still have to hear about how cheap I was.
That's because I'm still ... well, I like to think I've evolved from miserly to penurious to cheap to frugal. And being so, we don't do the hearts and flowers and chocolates crap. In fact we generally ignore most of your minor holidays (such as our own birthdays) that were specifically designed by Hallmark and Hershey and FTD to separate you from all your money, $3.95 at a time.
Fortunately, through all this, somehow, for no good reason either of us can think of, we are still (cue the violin music) still very much in love with each other, and I can't ever see myself with anyone but Mrs. Tater. (Awwwwww......)
Just getting this all up front so you'll know where I stand on the extremely cruel diversion question I'm about to ask you:
When you wake up tomorrow morning, take a good, hard, serious look across the sheet or the breakfast table or at your S.O.'s picture on your phone -- the one he/she sent you of him/her in the shower, doing that special thing you like -- and imagine there's a new federal law in place requiring that on Valentine's Day you either have to dump your S.O. for good or stay with your S.O. forever. And by "dump" I mean for eternity. And by "forever" I mean for eternity.
So ... Love 'em or leave 'em? Your call, sweetheart.
Let's get ... um, five breakups and we'll call it a good day.
TATER BARLEY BANKS is not to be trusted. He probably makes up everything he writes about himself, especially the stuff about living in West Virginia. Don't be fooled. In truth, he lives in Pajibaland, where he speaks gibberish as , (TCFKAB), spends his time sitting on a park bench, eyeing little girls with bad intent, and is developing a 25-letter alphabet, now that his key doesn't work. He has no blog, no Facebook page and no MySpace page, so don't try to find him. If you're so inclined, you can email Tater.