A date is not just a date when Hallmark is involved

So yesterday, thanks to the snow and my inconvenient job I was running late to dinner. Normally this is not a problem. You just call and say, “I can’t catch a cab because of the weather or because someone told the cabbie that I am half black. Either way I will be a little late.”

But something happens when Hallmark Cards wants to make a lot of money. A date becomes more than just a date. It is the one date day where par for the course is the best you can do. It’s supposed to be perfect and nice, etc. Any slip up and you are ruining Valentine’s Day. Instead of every kiss beginning with shots of tequila, it must begin with “K(ay).” Instead of flowers arriving on time and being the fault of the underpaid immigrant laborer who has never seen snow, it is the result of poor planning and lack of caring. Aside from New Year’s, Valentines Day is consistently my worst holiday. Followed shortly thereafter by Flag Day.

Well last night after arriving late I was determined to make it a good one. Then I got a phone call.

Me: Oh God, it’s my house. What do they want?

House (voiced by Mom): Did you lose your wallet?

Me (patting my blazer): It would appear so. That’s funny because I just paid for a cab outside the restaurant.

House: Some woman named Tess just called me and said she had your wallet. She found it in the street and is sitting in the restaurant. Here’s her number.

Me: Thanks. I’ll call her.

House (thoughts only): My son is a fu-king moron.

So I call Tess and she in fact is in the restaurant with my wallet. She returns it and I have our waitress buy her and her husband two drinks. I should have specified that they were to only get soft drinks or tap water.

So a disaster was averted for the second time in a week (my lost coat and my lost wallet).

What made the story even more bizarre and potentially would have had me washing dishes all night was the fact that my Valentine had lost her wallet earlier that day (also recovered but not in her possession).

At the moment I realized that I could hear my Mom saying to herself: Sounds like a match made in As-hole Heaven.

Which is exactly what she said to me 15 minutes ago on the phone.