Be My Valentine, But make sure you wash your hands first.

Let's face it - if you're not in love Valentine's Day can be a pretty dreadful holiday. And a month ago, I thought I was going to be one of the Valentine's Day haters. I was not looking forward to this day AT ALL.

But a lot has changed in a few short weeks - and even though I'm really not much into the commercialism of conventional American holidays, the Doctor and I had planned to spend the day together in pink-hearted, candy-coated, goofy-smiling bliss.

Well, our own version anyway, and there were a couple of snags....

Valentines day this year fell on a Saturday, and the Friday night before I had planned to go to a concert at the House of Blues with a girlfriend, her husband and some other mutual friends. She had asked me weeks in advance and the tickets were already bought. The doctor was invited, but he declined. He didn't feel like going out after a pretty busy work week, but said I should go anyway. We decided I would meet him at his house later - sometime in the wee hours of the morning, then we would spend Saturday together.

So slightly tipsy after a few too many drinks (not too tipsy to drive in relative safety, but certainly over the legal limit and with somewhat of an impaired judgment ... I know I know .. please don't lecture) I drove my friends home, then stopped at the 24 hour Giant Eagle to buy little bags of Valentines Candy for the Doctor's two girls, and then headed to his apartment. By this time it was about 2:30 in the morning, he had left the door unlocked for me and was already in bed.

I wasn't sure if he was sleeping, so I crept in quietly, and the little shiny red bags filled with tissue paper and candy on the kitchen table.

From the kitchen table I could see the outline of his body under the covers. He didn't say anything, or move - so I assumed he must be sleeping. I had planned to climb into bed with him, and nuzzle him awake gently, perhaps giving him a reason not to go back to sleep. I balanced precariously, one hand on the table, equilibrium slightly impaired, and slipped off my boots. I slid out of my jeans and sweater and when I had undressed down to a baby doll t-shirt and black lace panties I padded across the carpet to the bedroom pausing a moment to look in on my sleeping man, before I slipped into the bathroom to relieve the beer induced overfilling of my now throbbing bladder.

I peed. Quietly. Now don't ask me why, but sometimes in the middle of the night I don't flush the toilet. Especially when there is someone sleeping right next door who you don't want to wake up. Or someone whom you would like to wake up, but who you would rather wake up to the feeling of your skin next to his, or the alluring and irresistible scent of your pheromones and sweat mingled with perfume, not to the sound of a flushing toilet. So I didn't flush. It was just a little pee, after all.

I switched off the light, opened the bathroom door, and crept into the bedroom. Tiptoeing around the bed I climbed in and slid under the covers. I snuggled up behind him. reaching my arm around his waist I pulled him in close to me kissing the back of his neck. I was in sort of a dizzy, drowsy, alcohol induced stupor. He lay quietly and then in a rather matter-of-fact way he spoke.

"You didn't flush the toilet. Or wash your hands."

I stopped. I was not sure what to do. He had been awake the whole time. And yes, I did not wash my hands. I also didn't pee on them. And who cares anyway if I did have microscopic amounts of urine on them anyway, it's not like he hadn't happily planted his face where I peed on a number of occasions without asking me to wash with soap and water first, and if I had my way he was going to do it again in a matter of moments. Why did he suddenly care if I washed my hands NOW?

Now here is where new relationships differ from long established ones. I am pretty certain if my former husband had ever said something like that to me I would have set him straight about what a buzzkill that remark was, starting with the words "so the fuck what?" and if we had ever had any sort of sexual chemistry I might have reached over, taken his hand, placed it between my legs and said

"Now we're even. Shall we wash our hands together when we're finished here?" Which in retrospect is exactly what I should have said to the doctor.

But in my slightly drunken state, and seeing as I hadn't quite become that comfortable or that bold with him, I was caught off guard and became slightly embarrassed. I had come to bed attempting to be seductive and desirable and, if I understood correctly was now being shunned for my poor hygiene practices. This was not how I had planned this to go. So I simply got up, walked across the hall, flushed the toilet and washed my hands, and came back to bed.

Returned to the sanctum of the covers, I attempted to re-awaken my inner seductress - but the drowsiness was taking over and the sexual image of myself now loomed less large and pressing after this whole hand-washing business. I was going to need some positive reinforcement in the form clear signs of my desirableness, or I was going to give up and fall asleep.

I offered up some gentle kisses, some soft caresses, some nudging and nuzzling in what I hoped was the right direction. He lay motionless staring at me. I had no idea what that meant, and I was beginning to be too tired to care. I closed my eyes to think about what to do next and that's the last thing I remember.

The next morning, the inner-seductress was re-invigorated and after brushing my teeth, peeing, flushing and washing my hands (I learned my lesson), I managed to finish what we started.

Later the doctor told me he was disappointed -- that it had been his ultimate fantasy that I would take him by force because I absolutely could not wait one minute longer. I was flattered - and yet slightly annoyed, pointing out that if one's goal is sexual disinhibition, perhaps it's best not to interrupt the process with hygiene instructions that would have been utterly futile should we have gotten it on in the manner he had envisioned. And furthermore, one good "you've got the right idea" kiss would have set us both on the proper path, and I cannot read his mind after all. ugggg. MEN. I was however grateful for this morsel of information which I have now filed away in my brain for future use.

It had begun snowing during the night, and since the doctor hates snow and cold, my idea of spending the morning taking a hike through the arboretum was losing steam. Besides which, I still hadn't managed to finish his Valentines Day present - a somewhat sappy love song CD with songs that I had been picking out over the last week or so. The problem was my spindle of blank CD's was in a box of office supplies that managed to find their way to x-husband's house instead of mine. All week I had neglected to stop an buy some new ones, or drop by the x's and pick them up. I had to figure out a way to get this done.

We made a plan that I would drive home, shower and change, and (secretly) stop at the drug store, buy aforementioned lank CD's, burn said CD and have ready and waiting as if I had been prepared for this day for weeks. Less secretly, he admitted that he had not had time to stop and buy my present either. He would do his shopping and meet me at my place. Now, when you are in a hurry, nothing happens easily. I drove to the drugstore. Could not find the CD's. Found CD's, Waited in long line. Tried to leave parking lot and got stuck behind a 15 minute (I kid you not) funeral procession that prevented me from making the appropriate left hand turn onto the highway. Got home, burned CD, wrote on the cover, and was just about to get in the shower when the doctor arrived.

"what? you haven't even gotten in the shower yet? What have you been doing this whole time?"

"uhhh..." I really, really did not want to tell the whole story.

"If I would have known I wouldn't have rushed around so much. I got to the store, there was this long line, and some woman who wanted to use a coupon or get money back or something and there was just one cashier, and I was thinking the whole time that you were here waiting for me impatiently."

I couldn't help but laugh and thankfully so did he. I told him the CD story.

"I can't believe I finally met someone who procrastinates more than me. Hurry up."

His gift by the way was a set of red wine glasses. On what was maybe our third date I think, he came over and we made dinner together. We had some wine, and afterward when he was helping clean up he attempted to dry one of my wine glasses and squeezed a little too hard. I told him I didn't care - and it was true. Stuff breaks when you use it. Wine glasses can be replaced. No big deal. Butthe gesture was rather sweet. I gave him my CD, and we both agreed that maybe pink-hearted, candy-coated, goofy-smiling bliss was best left to everyone else.