So. Saint Valentine's Day is taken care of.

Chocolates?

Check. Bought a couple weeks ago, when we were stranded in University Town. I bought the wife the box of Dove Dark Chocolate that she said she wanted, and she bought me the box I wanted.

You can't do any better than Dove Dark, you know.

Romantic card?

Check. Picked up Saturday when I joined her for a rare grocery shopping trip together. She may have peeked at it, but I suspect, knowing her, she has not.

Gotta remember to sign it first thing tomorrow morning, though.

Diamonds?

Heh. Diamonds. My wife'd divorce me if I ever wasted good money on worthless diamonds. Not even her engagement ring had a diamond on it. (Australian black opal, now that's the ticket.) But no, no jewelry. Looks like almost all our spare money this year is going to the dentist and Russia.

Roses?

Check. Plan was to order the usual delivery to her place of employment, but on said Saturday shopping trip we happened on a display of dozens of different varieties of roses. And spent considerable time looking for her favorite.

They didn't have it, of course.

No surprise. But certainly more varieties than the florists.

Then the wife found some orangish ones. Variety: Amber.

So gee, we had to buy them.

Yes, the wife had to arrange her own Valentine's Day roses.

So sue me. She's happy with them.

The problem is, there's no bragging rights if the roses stay here. What I want is for them to get to her office, for all her co-workers to see.

The logical course of action is for her to take the roses with her when she goes to work tomorrow. But then, that's obviously just showing off. And kinda like giving them to herself, you know?

So, I may be making a trip into town.

Otherwise, we're debating whether or not to treat ourselves to prime rib dinners...

Or just wait for the annual banquet which is the day after, and call that our Valentine's Day treat.

Heelers and I are voting for prime rib.