Jenny sighs and rolls her eyes.

"Duh. We had our nails and toes done at the salon. How have you never gotten a many pettings before? It's like you live in a cave or something, Claire," she complains as she shakes her head at me. "Anyway, Liz was telling me that she got so tired of Jim never having a clue what to get her, she started making a list for him. This year, he's supposed to take her to the Cheesecake Factory for dinner and then to see a chick flick after. That way he won't show up with an alpaca or whatever the hell that was that shit in all her Coach purses a few years ago."

Just then, Liz walks through the door carrying a huge box and drops it on the floor in front of Jenny.

"Jenny, can you open this box and make sure everything I ordered is in there?"

She hops off of the counter and begins tearing the tape off of the box and opening the flaps excitedly.

"Ooooooh, we used these at the movie theater and used the extra butter—"

Liz holds up her hand and closes her eyes, stopping Jenny mid-sentence.

"Without a running commentary of the places you've stuck them and the condiments you used to get them there."

Jenny looks up at Liz with a perplexed look on her face.

"We don't use condoms, Liz, you know that. It's like you never listen to anything I say."

Jenny huffs and continues pawing through the box.

"So, I heard you guys discussing shitting farm animals when I walked in. Reliving the Valentine Coach Massacre of 2009, are we?" Liz asks as she leans against the counter while I wash the dishes.

"Jenny told me about how you give Jim a list every year for Valentine's Day. It sounded a little unromantic to me, but I forgot about that whole Queen Shitty Britches or whatever her name was."

Liz nods her head in understanding.

"I agree, it's a little unconventional, but it's necessary so I don't smother my husband in his sleep. It really does make for a much happier holiday all around. Plus, Jim doesn't have to sleep out in the garage for a week, and I don't have to soak my face in bleach to get llama germs off," she explains with a shrug.

"You know, you could have gotten Key Lime Disease from something like that, Liz. Llamas have these little bugs called sticks that carry Key Lime. I saw it on Animal Planet," Jenny states.

"Did you maybe see it on the Food Network instead? With Paula Dean?" I ask with a laugh.

"I think Key Lime Disease is cured with whip cream," Liz adds with a snort.

"You guys are weird. That makes absolutely no sense."

Jenny rolls her eyes and goes back to her sex toy sorting while Liz reminisces fondly about the time she almost got a delicious citrus illness, and I have to pause with the dirty dishes because she starts sobbing uncontrollably about her favorite Coach purse she buried in the back yard that year while she made Jim hum Taps.

Maybe Liz is on to something with this idea. Her expectations won't be through the roof because she'll know exactly what she was getting, and it will be what she's wanted because she had spelled it out for Jim. But the more I think it's a good idea, the more I go back to square one and think, where's the romance in that? Carter is amazing and I love him more than I ever thought possible. Even though it's hit or miss sometimes because come on, he's a guy and they really aren't the most perceptive when it comes to knowing what to buy us girls, I still love being surprised and hopeful when it comes to the most romantic holiday of the year. Is it too much to ask that he just put on his thinking cap and really concentrate on something that he knows will make me happy?

"Hello mothers! Thank you so much for volunteering to help out with your child's Valentine's Day class party this year," the principal of Gavin's school announces to the twenty or so mothers gathered in the lobby of the elementary school a few days later.

As I stand in the corner with my arms crossed in front of me so none of the other mothers will try and talk to me, I glance around and wonder when the hell cupid puked all over these people. Every single mother is wearing red from head to toe. Red shirts, red sweaters, red jeans, red skirts, red and pink striped knee-high socks (no, I'm not joking). Half of them have God-awful headbands on their heads with red springy hearts or glittery pink flowers. A few of them even light up. I look down at my jeans and black t-shirt and shrug to myself. I may not be over the top like these freaks of nature, but at least I've worn something in honor of the day. The black shirt had been a gift from Drew when he found out I got roped into being the room mother for Gavin's Valentine's Day party. It has a picture of a voodoo doll on the front with pins and needles sticking out of it all over the place. Under the doll it says: Be mine. Or else.

"When your child's class party is finished, please make sure to sign your child out before you take him or her home. Have a Heart-stopping good time ladies!" the principal finishes.

I groan as I bend down and pick up the Wal-Mart bag filled with enough juice boxes for the twenty-four kids in Gavin's class and a cookie sheet full of red and pink frosted cupcakes. I had stopped feeling inadequate years ago when I came to these things and saw all of the Longaberger baskets decked out in pretty little Valentine's Day liners and filled with beautiful little bags of candy tied with perfect little bows or flawlessly made alligators on card stock with cutesy little sayings on them like "I'd snap at the chance to be your Valentine!" I have a full time job and a full time family to take care of. I don't have time to spend forty hours creating Valentines for a bunch of ten-year-olds who will just throw them in the garbage when they get home.

I follow the other moms down the hallway until I come to Gavin's classroom and step inside to complete and total anarchy. The kids had a day filled with Valentine activities and they are obviously already hopped on enough sugar to take down an elephant.

"Hi! Thanks for coming!" Gavin's teacher shouts over the noise. "Sorry about this. They just exchanged valentines and they're a little excited."

I feel myself breaking out in a cold sweat as I scan the room. I want to get down on my knees and weep at his teacher's feet. Instead, I stand up on a chair and shout at the top of my lungs.

"HEEEEEEEEEY! Sit down and be quiet or no one gets a cupcake!"

The kids stare at me for a minute, then everyone scrambles to their seats, everyone except for one little girl who stands directly across from me on the other side of the room. I step down off of the chair and stare at her. She is a tiny little thing with the most amazing head of hair I've ever seen on a ten-year old. It's full of natural curls and it hangs down to the middle of her back. She's impeccably dressed in a Valentine-themed outfit: a red long-sleeved shirt with pink and white hearts on it, a matching skirt, and red glittery shoes. The whole outfit is finished off with a cute little red bow in her hair.

"Hey, Mom!" Gavin greets me as he runs up to my side while the rest of his class, sans miss fashion plate over there, settles in their seats.

"Hey there! Who's the chick over there by the window staring at us?" I ask him as I pull the juice boxes out of the bag and take the foil off of the tray of cupcakes.

"Oh, that's Brooklyn," he says before running back to his desk.

I stop with my hand in midair over the top of the cupcakes, turn my head back over to the corner of the room, and then stand up straighter. We glare at each other for a few minutes, and I swear to God the room suddenly gets deathly quiet and I can hear that weird whistling song that always plays in those old westerns when two cowboys are getting ready for a gun fight at the O.K. Corral.