Last year for valentine’s – since everything was already booked – I decided to cook Geoff supper. So I sent him to the grocery store with explicit instructions to bring home bread and cheese and flowers. So off he goes and I get down to the business of cooking.

About thirty minutes later, he shows back up and dumps his goods on the counter; white bread, good cheese and three kinds of flours – wheat, self-rising and pastry. He was very pleased with himself.

This valentine’s I decided to ask for something different as it took me forever to finish up all that flour. So I asked him for a sweet letter. Fairly straightforward, right?

I wake up to find a pink note on my desk, sitting on some wax paper, wet. The content of the note was certainly sweet, I must admit, but the note ended by suggesting that I taste it.

“What did you do to this?” I ask, sniffing it.
“I made you a sweet note,” he looks very pleased with himself. I lick it. Sure enough, it tastes sweet. Sigh.

“Next year, I’m going to ask you for diamonds…oh wait, never mind, that’s too easy for you…”

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