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Here comes Valentine’s Day, looming in the distance like a cheerful grim reaper with little sparkling hearts all over him. . . SIGH. . . candy, flowers, dinner, romance, and all that. YES, I’m going to go through with it. Are you kidding? I’m counting down the days like a condemned man. I have to produce something decent this year. Diamonds? Com’on. Probably not. Anything’s better than what I did last year.

Last year I waited all day to do something, and had to grab the last box of candies from the pharmacy, on my way home. My wife was very, VERY upset. When I say upset I mean, fogetaboutit upset. Like The Sopranos upset. Like. . . The Godfather upset. Like February 14, 1929 in Chicago– Al Capone and Bugs Malone meet their maker upset. I found a knitted horse head in my bed the next morning. UPSET. Seriously. And who could blame her? This year I’m setting SEVERAL alarms on my phone, my watch, my Microsoft Outlook. For whom the bell tolls? It’s gonna toll for me, if I screw this up.

But what about me? I mean, I’m no softy, but, hey, I would like a little something nice too. No, not chocolate. Can you imagine? But you know what I would like. The Man Can from Plum Island Soap Company. All this spicy rum, great-smelling stuff comes packed in a shiny paint can! A manly bar of soap and one of those rough, sisal mitts to scrub with, spiced rum body oil, and a thick butter-like moisturizer for my manly, callused, fisherman mans. Com’on– typing all day CAN make your fingertips a little rough, okay? Just so you know, a pristine paint can is like the male equivalent to a box of chocolates. Walking down the hall, swinging my can of goodies reminds me of living in the college dorms, carrying all my shower stuff to the bathroom so no one else uses it. Ahhh. . . those were the days. . .