Just the facts, ma'am...

These are the facts, and they are undisputed.

- Micah and I have a history of sucking at Valentine's Day. 

- Micah is sort of the opposite of most guys:  he's wonderful to me all year long but sometimes drops the ball when it comes time to pony up the artificial, Hallmark-type romance. 

- I, on the other hand, am a typical girl.  I want him to want to pony up the artificial, Hallmark-type romance without me having to tell him to.  And I also want him to understand this about me without me having to tell him.  So, basically, he should be a skilled mind reader.  (Which I maintain is not an unreasonable requirement, but I digress.)

- With full knowledge of the utter disaster that ensued the last time he forgot to make dinner reservations for Valentine's Day, Micah made reservations at a nice steakhouse in Dallas a full week in advance.  Very well done, I must add.

- Yesterday I realize that I have put absolutely no thought into a gift for him, so I call to ask him if he's gotten me a present yet.  He says he has an "idea," but he's not sure "what kind" to get or where to get them.  Being a skilled mind reader myself, I tell him that pearls are a fairly expensive and timeless gift, and that he (we) should probably do some research before we spend that kind of money on them.  After recovering from shock at my psychic-esque skills, he agrees that we just won't exchange gifts this year.  I convince myself that I really am fine with not getting a present and almost succeed, remaining slightly frustrated that he didn't plan ahead to make sure I felt extra special on Valentine's Day.  (Never mind the fact that I had absolutely NO plans for a present for him.)

- Last night, I realize that, as sweet as the gesture was, I don't really want to eat steak on Valentine's Day.  I'd rather have a quiet night at home with Micah and go to dinner somewhere on Saturday.  So I tell him this.  He tries to cancel the reservation from his phone but can't, so he asks me to call and cancel the reservation.  I become unreasonably angry that he won't take care of it himself since, as I pointed out, he is the man, and husbands should always just take care of things like this, but especially on Valentine's Day.  We both get frustrated, and we end up going to bed angry.

- This morning, we wake up happier (as we usually do), but I corner him in the closet as he's trying to get ready for work.  I ask him why he can't understand that Valentine's Day is about husbands doing sweet things for their wives.  I tell him that he's the best husband in the world 364 days of the year but that on the one day he's supposed to make me feel special, he fails miserably.  He remains quiet, and I follow him out into the kitchen, fully prepared to continue lecturing him.

Until I see this on the counter.

Utter wife FAIL.

Apparently he had stopped by the store yesterday evening, after all.

No, it isn't pearls or flowers or some over-the-top, expensive, predictable gift.  It's just my husband, loving me in his sweet, understated, consistently wonderful way.  Just like he does every other day of the year.  It's just one more piece of evidence that he is more than I could ever deserve.  (And that I'm a crazy, ridiculous girl who sometimes forgets that society's perception of romance isn't reality.)

Now I've just got eight hours to figure out how to fashion a gift from office supplies and the candy jar in the kitchen at work... ;)

(And, for the record, we didn't actually drink the champagne before work, in case you all were wondering...)