Valentines for Old Married People
Ah, Valentine’s Day. The age-old (commercially created) holiday where lovers declare their undying commitment to each other through flowers, songs, chocolate, and overpriced greeting cards. When I was young and dating, Valentine’s day was something special. My then-boyfriends would try to impress me with poetry and a sexy evening. And being young and broke, that usually meant reading a poem over a shared bottle of cheap wine and then getting busy for hours.
But what happens when your LAST boyfriend turns into your first (and hopefully last!) husband and the father of your kids? When his hair has gone and your abs are non-existent? Well, you have to adjust, people. Life and marriage is all about change and compromise.
So here are a few Valentine’s for those of you who have been with your partner for a quite a while and need some inspiration.
When you do the dishes (without being asked), it makes me hot.
No one shovels snow like you, baby.
When I gaze deep into your eyes, I don’t see the wrinkles around them. Just the reflection of my wrinkles.
If we could afford it, I’d buy you diamonds. Instead, let’s order an extra appetizer at Applebee’s tonight.
Welcome home, baby. Remember that time in college when you held my hair as I drunkenly vomited? Thank you for that. Now, you’ll have to do that again because our daughter has a stomach virus and it’s my night with the girls.
Remember how we used to sneak around behind our parents backs, looking for a place for a quick romp? Now, we sneak around behind our children’s backs and hope Sesame Street keeps them enthralled long enough for a quickie. Oh, shit, I hear someone calling us.
I will love you until the day I die. But since you’re a man, statistically, I’ll probably outlive you so don’t blame me if I get remarried.
Some days I look at this home we’ve created and these children we brought into the world and think I’m the luckiest woman in the world. Some days I think, “Wouldn’t it be nice to take a cruise alone?”
Thank you for still wanting to see my vagina in action, even after you saw it ripped open and bleeding around a baby’s head.
Your hair may be gone, but your dick still works.
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