Being that it's the busiest day of year in the restaurant business, Aaron and I usually do our Valentine's Day stuff on the 13th. Last night was no exception, as we dragged ourselves out to sushi. I had an allergic reaction to the mango they had put in the salad, so I took some Benadryl and was dead asleep by 9pm. Romantic, eh? I noticed that Aaron had gotten up way earlier than I this morning, so I was expecting some flowers when I went out to the kitchen, but no. He had taken the dogs to the vet, something I had completely forgotten about. I'd rather have practicality over romantic semantics anyway (I don't think that really makes sense, but I'm still Benadryl drowsy). I told him when he called me on his break how I drove past the outdoor flower stand on Calle Real and there was a line 10-men deep of desperate fellows who I'm sure had gotten kind reminders from their wives and girlfriends that no flowers means no sex, and reminded him that Vons is open until midnight. Because as much as I would like to think that I don't care about that stuff--um, I do. So there.