on the way home this afternoon, i passed a grocery store with a large white tent in the parking lot. cars were everywhere. shopping carts. balloons. at least fifty cardboard signs were stabbed into the grass between the parking lot and the street. “love!” they said. “flowers!” “candy!” “valentine’s day express tent!” which is sad, because love has nothing whatsoever to do with flowers or shopping carts. it has nothing to do with candy, either, or jewelry or money or going out to dinner at a restaurant where the bored waitress watches as you kiss and feed each other dessert right there at the table. because the bored waitress knows that actual romance is not even remotely related to appetizers or entree salads, and it doesn’t take place inside a parking lot express tent. it’s especially not about the word express because, hey, it’s much better s l o w. it’s falling asleep watching old tapes of the simpsons, while the early-afternoon sun slants in through the blinds.
it’s sharing wine straight from the bottle.