The Best Laid Schemes

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day.

You don't need me to tell you that, though it is a rather admirable demonstration of one of my more discernable talents: The gift for stating the obvious. No, advertisors and various media outlets have been screeching at you about February 14 since Boxing Day, when the artificial pines and tinsel were removed from the seasonal aisle at your local pharmacy and replaced with heart-shaped boxes of dark chocolate and cardboard Cupids.

Valentine's Day and I are not on friendly terms. Never have been, really. Most years, I take the day off from work and hide out in La Casa del Terror. This year, I had a different idea: Go to work, serve my eight hours in the salt mines, go to Cardozo's afterward and get quietly but resolutely hammered. Not the healthiest alternative, I know, and certainly not the most optimistic. Still, it was something different, and I scheduled the day after off as a vacation day, thus allowing me to sleep away the inevitable hangover.

Sometimes, though, even such modest schemes can't fly far enough under the radar without being shot down.

I have the flu. Have had it for about a week and a half. Unpleasant thing. Coughing, sneezing and feeling generally miserable. And that's just during daylight hours. At night, merely breathing becomes an effort, making sleep a near-impossibility. Sleep for an hour, sit up and cough for two. Wash, rinse, repeat.

So, because I'm still sick and pumped full of Theraflu, I can't go drinking tomorrow night. Instead, I'll serve my time at the job, go home, sip chicken noodle soup and watch Ace of Cakes on Food Network.

I've had worse Valentine's Days. I've had--and will have--better ones, too.