THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, February 11, 1996 TAG: 9602080031
SECTION: REAL LIFE PAGE: K1 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: HE SAID, SHE SAID
SOURCE: KERRY DOUGHERTY & DAVE ADDIS
LENGTH: Medium: 95 lines
KERRY SAYS:
Maybe it's because I spent my childhood as a tomboy. Or my adulthood as a cynic. But, Dave, I have to confess that something about me seems to discourage romantic acts in men.
So it is especially hard this time of year to watch people getting all misty-eyed about Valentine's Day.
I can't be the only woman out there who has never gotten any of the following on Feb. 14: diamonds, perfume, or a marriage proposal.
Not that there hasn't been plenty of time. I speak from a solid two decades of dating and another eight years of married life.
During lots of those dating years I came up empty on Valentine's Day. Boyfriends always used to break up with me in early February - those who hadn't dumped me in early December, that is.
Over the years I've watched in bewilderment as girlfriends of mine - and some that weren't a whole lot better looking than me, either - were wined and dined on Valentine's Day. They would always come back with some hopelessly romantic tale about lifting their glass of champagne for a toast at the end of the evening, only to find a - What's that? Could it be? - a diamond ring resting in there among the bubbles!
I admit that my normal reaction to one of these sappy romantic tales is to roll my eyes and groan. But I think I can tell you, and it won't go any further, that looking back on all those years, all those drinks, just once I would like to have found something in my glass other than a wedge of lime.
Sometimes, to make myself feel better, I tell myself I must have swallowed a ring or two along the way and the guys were too horror-struck to tell me.
So, Dave, tell me. What is it about some women that seems to drive men to spend hours in jewelry stores gazing through glass counters, gold card in hand, ready and able to spend every last cent on their beloved? And why did my beaux always hand me something like a bag of coffee beans secured with a red rubber band, mumbling something about how they knew I needed caffeine to be human in the morning?
I may already know the answer. I think it's genetic. I grew up in a romance-deprived family.
My mother wept the year my father gave her a dandelion picker for Valentine's Day. He just stood there, stunned, mumbling something about how it was red.
DAVE SAYS:
You ask a good question, Kerry, when you wonder what drives some men to comb the jewelry stores and florist shops in the dank of February, seeking out the perfect Valentine bauble, or a spray of roses that mysteriously costs twice what it cost the week before, or will cost the week after.
It is not love that drives them, friend. It is cold terror. If your Valentine's Day remembrances are something less than memorable, it's to your credit. It means you don't inspire fear in men. And that is good.
We live in fear that Feb. 14 will find us like your father, jelly-kneed and confused, trying to apologize for some sin we never realized we were committing. We choose some token of our affection for our wife or girlfriend. We put a bow on it, attach a card, sign it ``With love,'' and figure we're all set. We've been good little boys.
And then we get the ``the look.'' It comes from somewhere deep behind the eyes, and it is so cold, so primordial in its iciness that it could freeze the Caribbean Sea with just a sidelong glance.
We do not know why we are getting ``the look.'' Usually it is because you have learned that your neighbor's cousin's daughter's sister-in-law in Terre Haute got a diamond ring for Valentine's Day. And the thunderstruck young man who gave that ring has just devalued the Valentine's Day gifts of some 143,000 men. Their wives or girlfriends will have heard of it in moments, through a phone-tag pyramid scheme that is the envy of every aluminum-siding salesman from here to Tucumcari.
Each of us has gotten ``the look'' at least once. And that, Kerry, is what drives us to fatten the wallets of the florists and the wretched poets at Hallmark every Feb. 14. Maybe, long ago, the day was about love and affection. Now it's just another commercial competition. And we've hardly recovered from the trauma of failing to find the perfect Christmas gift.
We weren't prepared for all this. As little boys we were used to seeing our mothers weep with joy when we presented them with any sort of scraggly, crayon-scrawled Valentine. We were led to believe that the value of the gift was in the sentiment, not in the pricetag.
I feel badly for your dad. He picked out something personal, even if it was a little daffy. Instead of appreciating that, your mom fell victim to the gift-competition racket. It's sad to think he'd have been better off buying her a big-ticket, one-gift-fits-all sort of present, like a diamond. But when that happens, what once was an expression of affection has been reduced to a bribe.
So if you don't find a diamond in your champagne this week, Kerry, don't let it bother you. It might simply mean that Steve thinks enough of you to know that he doesn't have to pay you off. MEMO: Kerry Dougherty can be reached at 446-2306, and via e-mail at
kerryd(at)infi.net. Dave Addis can be reached at 446-2588, and
addis(at)infi.net. by CNB