My Valentine’s date started on Saturday night with a hot new dress, cute new shoes and reservations at one of Roanoke’s finest new restaurants.
It ended about 45 minutes after dinner with me in the bathroom, violently ill, still wearing my “hot” dress. It was not so hot at that point.
Because I do not know and will never know whether my illness was food-related or simply the result of a nasty virus, I don’t want to mention the restaurant. Suffice it to say that even if I had not gotten deathly ill afterward, I wouldn’t have been SUPER impressed by either the food or the service. Better luck next time.
Here’s what I learned, though: Sometimes, the truest gestures of love come in unexpected ways.
I thought my Valentine was going to show me how much he loved me by pouring my wine, feeding me a bite of his dinner, opening the door for me or putting his hand on the small of my back while we walked. And he did all those things.
But it meant so much more to me when he wiped my sweaty face with a cool washcloth, brought me ice water and hovered outside the door, repeatedly asking in a nervous voice if I was going to be okay. And when I was recuperating on the couch yesterday, he went to the store and bought me ginger ale and medicine and rented “No Reservations,” that cheesy flick about two chefs who fall in love.
He drew the line at actually watching the movie with me, but that’s okay.
For better or for worse, right?
In sickness and in health.