February 9th, 2013, Miami International Airport, Terminal D. Late.
I’m stranded in Miami–at the airport, not outside enjoying the weather. I’m trying to get to Boston for my cousin’s wedding, but my flight was canceled because of the blizzard there. You say you write an advice column–do you have any advice to help me relax? (I don’t drink.)
Your new friend at D39,
How about babysitting? I’ve got Valentine’s Day matters to address, see, and I’ll be addressing them for 2014 if I have to keep stopping… to tell my children…. not to surf our rollerbags…. up and down the terminal…. or practice gymnastics…. going the wrong direction on the horizontalator. Watch my kids and you’ll forget why you’re here.
I’m also at MIA, trying to get home to Jersey ASAP for “Ladies’ Day” (as my girlfriend calls it) in five days. I’d wait this out at my brother’s house, but my girlfriend believes that since she asks to be doted on only once per year (excluding her birthday), part of the package should be not having to worry about me missing it. What if I wind up taking a seat from someone whose grandmother died–is that a reasonable argument?
Warily eyeing the ketchup play at our shared table in the food court,
I appreciate your consideration, but also consider yourself: your girlfriend wants you to suffer hell on earth–maybe not the seventh level, but the chaos of 5,000 grounded planes is below purgatory–so she can chill waaaay in advance of an overblown romance-fest that according to many–and not merely the folks who celebrate Singles Awareness Day in its stead–is for the birds? Unless you made this up on the spot to humor me, return to your brother immediately and do something manly with him.
Best of luck,
Me again! You’ll be happy to hear that your suggestions worked and I finally broke up with my girlfriend. I feel bad about the timing, though–may I call her on Valentine’s Day to see how she’s doing?
Thanks as always,
Hey again, Dude,
Congratulations! But, um, timing? She wasted thirteen fertile months on you after you’d mentally moved on (albeit incompletely, and still). If you’re genuinely concerned, bow to the Hallmark/florist/chocolatier hydra and spend a few bucks on a gift. To be delivered via a third party, attached to a sincere yet unambiguous note. The sexual advantage, if your ex is vulnerable on Valentine’s Day, goes to somebody new.
Happy Singles Awareness Day,
GET DOWN FROM THE BEST BUY VENDING MACHINE, YOU TWO, NOW!
I’d like to take my wife out to dinner for Valentine’s Day on Thursday, but all of our favorite restaurants are offering prix-fixe menus only, costing more than we usually spend. Should we go out Wednesday or Friday?
Also, we both love your column, and it’d be totally awesome if you could please print this:
Jen, I love you very much. These last four months have been the best of my life. Happy Valentine’s Day! Love, Danny Bear
Happy Valentines Day to you, too, Judith, and thank you regardless of whether you can accommodate my request,
No, thank you! And while a question certainly wasn’t required, you picked a great one. Restaurants on February fifteenth will be packed with disillusioned middle-aged couples who forgot– Hold that thought a moment.
OK, so what advice do you have for getting irate customers to pay attention to the announcements over the P.A. instead of asking me to repeat the same information and acting like their canceled flight is my fault? And your girls really need to get down from the Best Buy machine before they topple it.
Thank you for choosing American Airlines,
How about I buy a beer and disguise it in a ginger ale bottle for you? My husband should be back soon and then it’s my turn to go to the bar.
Doing my best to not make your sucky job worse,
Dear Dan, take two:
Sorry about that. Restaurants on the fifteenth will be full of people who forgot to make a reservation or otherwise disappointed their partners the previous night–newlyweds shouldn’t breathe that air. Whereas on the thirteenth, if you don’t mind the assumption, you get to discuss your steamy plans for the holiday proper.
A note of caution, though: this love craziness that Valentine’s Day exploits? It’s your DNA messing with your head. Love is your hormones coaxing you to reproduce–and may lead to Kafka-esque nightmares of trying to return home from your in-laws on a plane that never departs.
Happy Valentine’s Day,
ALL RIGHT ALREADY, kids, you can watch a movie on my laptop now.