Meet Up On Aisle Six, Please.

She took her eyes off the road long enough to see the dashboard clock, then cursed at herself for her lack of planning. It is Valentine’s Day, five-thirty in the evening, and she is fighting rush hour traffic to get home. Adding to the stress is a blinding snowstorm. Bumper to bumper traffic mixed with slippery precipitation makes her wish for the calming effect of the Cabernet that waits for her. Only after she stops at the store to buy the wine and a greeting card for her husband.

She tells herself she cannot walk into the house holding the card in her hand, looking like she forgot about the holiday or that he isn’t important enough to her to have done this sooner. Waiting until the last minute screams a lack of caring. If she was an organized wife, the card would already be there, signed, sealed and propped up, waiting for him when he gets home. She promised him a steak dinner with the fancy potatoes, red wine, and decadent dark chocolate. The expressions of devotion on a greeting card will round out the evening.

She’ll be late, but she’ll use the weather and traffic to blame for that. She'll come up with a way to sneak everything into the house. Knowing him, she figures he had gone card shopping a week ago, and selected an oversized one, with a pretty pink envelope embellished with adornments. His will be a Hallmark, not some dollar store version of romance. She’ll be lucky if there are any cards left specifically honoring a husband. She worries that a generic, run of the mill ‘for my special person’ will be all she’ll likely find this late in the game. Her guilt bubbles up.

They have been married for forty years. Known each other for three years more than that. They were just friends, part of a group of twenty somethings eager to make their mark in the world. Scratching their way up whatever career ladder everyone selected to climb. Their friendship grew to become better friends, then close partners, then newlyweds. First the apartment, then buying their first home, decisions on furniture and other expensive purchases, moving around town now and then and navigating life in the process.

There are no children they can call their own. It just wasn’t in the cards, so they play the hand dealt to them. They shower nieces and nephews with attention and affection. Known as the cool aunt and uncle, sought after for their fun, adventurous excursions and overindulgent gifts. They fawn over the neighbor’s kids and grandchildren. Theirs is the best house to stop at on Halloween night. Full size candy bars, not those miniatures. On the fourth of July, they have the biggest block party, with sparklers for every child present. It isn’t a fairy tale life, but it is a delightful, comfortable and endearing one that wraps around them like a favorite sweater. Their reflections in the mirror may have changed, but the feelings of affection have not. Still there, still strong and deserving of a night of pampering.

The honking horn from behind brings her out of her nostalgia and back to her commute. The drug store sign is barely visible through the swirling flakes, as she slides herself into a parking space, thankful for hitting nothing or anyone. Snow has accumulated to a few inches, but her rubber boots manage it just fine. Stomping off the excess at the store entrance, she sees the line at the checkout is eight people deep. Clutching cards, boxes of chocolates, single silk roses and expressing looks of regret, they shuffle up the queue ready to pay. She realizes she is not the only loser in the romance department, and she feels a twinge of camaraderie. The only area busier than the checkout is the card aisle, but she forges ahead, pushing her way to the ‘husband’ section. The 'wife and girlfriend' area looks like the beer line at a football game, everyone anxiously waiting to quench their thirst.

   Limited choices stare back at her, as she imagined it would be like. They look similar to the last kids chosen for the kickball game. Pitiful and lonely, waiting for acceptance. First card she finds is too sappy and definitely not her style. The second card is too bland. She knows she has said more passionate things to her dog than this sentiment gives. She settles for one that could come across like she wrote it, especially if he has a couple of glasses of wine in him first, before reading the card. Which reminds her she still needs wine and chocolate, as she makes haste to those sections of the store. Selections made; she rushes to pay for it all. As she rounds the corner, she runs smack into a man whose speed and frantic purpose matches hers. On her five-foot frame, her face tilts up to meet another face, familiar to her, a greeting card in his hand. Both are busted, caught in an act of procrastination, yet the giggles prove they find the humor in their situation.

"Hey there, Sweetie.”

“Hiya handsome. So, what shall we do now?"

The wife and the husband step off to the side and ponder their options. They decide to exchange cards, each taking ample time to read every word, offering amorous glances towards each other as they go. Now that they have read the cards and have absorbed the emotions of them, is it really necessary to buy them? His for her is seven dollars. Hers for him is five dollars. They decide the money should go towards another bottle of wine instead, so they return to the card aisle and place both back in the rack, barely getting out of the way of the next desperate person waiting to swoop in and snatch one. Together, they select another bottle of red, on sale, therefore tempting them to increase the chocolate stash and add in a small bag of mixed nuts. He offers to wait and pay, suggesting she get started home and to be careful. He’ll join her soon. They hug and kiss, eliciting verbal acknowledgements of their cuteness from the crowded store.

When both are finally safe at home, he lights a fire. The storm is too brutal for him to go outside to grill the steaks, so frozen pizza is a warm gooey substitute, and it still pairs well with the wine. They snuggle on the oversize chenille blanket in front of the fire and their faithful pup joins them on the floor, not out of affection but hoping for any scrap of pizza crust she can get. They realize how perfect they are for each other and conclude neither of them needed the greeting card in their possession to celebrate this evening properly. Also, they are more pizza and wine people than fancy cuts of beef people, anyway.

 It isn’t the words written by a stranger that make the marriage work; it is their actions towards each other that matter. The story they will share with others is how they both braved a blizzard to show how much they mean to each other and ended up having the most memorable Valentine’s Day of their lives. So perfect, they vow to meet up a next year for a repeat performance in aisle six.