My Funny Valentine

My sweet boy in his Valentine's Day gift from me - King of Mom's Heart they say - oh Lord, I couldn't resist.

Valentine's Day was extremely casual this year - we had no plans and no gifts. In fact, I was in Helena for the official day and didn't get home until 1pm the next day. We had decided we would celebrate on Friday but my only plan was to make something delicious for dinner, followed by some manner of chocolate. On my drive home, however, Montana was so incredibly gorgeous - just a fabulously, unseasonably sunny day - that I was inspired to go on an adventure. A few years ago, a day like that would have found Justin and I traipsing up a mountain or driving some windy country road with the top down in my old VW Cabby *sniff, sniff* But, alas, we have a 14 month old and a Toyota Corolla. So these days an "adventure" is a trip downtown with the stroller. Snarkiness aside: that can lead to a pretty awesome day, as it did last Friday.

Our first stop was a swanky little spot called Plonk. We have been going there on special occasions since before we were married, but this year we showed up during the quiet early afternoon hours, in our jeans and {accidentally matching} flannels, pushing a binky-sucking baby boy. That, however, did not make it feel any less special to me. I had a drink! Like, an adult drink. That's a big deal for me. The stay-at-home-mommy gig does not exactly lend itself to cocktail hour. We had these amazing appetizers that had me doing little dances with every bite. And the cocktail: a Cucumber Cilantro Gimlet. Oh holy yum. If you know me very well at all, you don't need me to say that - from that one little cocktail - I got tipsy, but I'm gonna say it here anyway just to set the stage. Because now we have come to the point of my Valentine's Day story.

From Plonk, we took Drake into a small toy store, where we may have had more fun than he did. And then we stopped into my favorite little cosmetics and skin care boutique. We walked into the small shop and were greeted by a big, beautiful German Shephard. "Oh, hello Handsome!" I said, bending down slightly to scratch the big dog's chin. I'm a sucker for a big lover dog.

The very sweet store owner walks up to us and says, "Anderson, leave them alone."

"Oh, he's ok! He's a good looking boy!" I say. Just then, a second dog runs up to me, this one small and scruffy. No, not just scruffy - mangy. See, I don't find many small dogs attractive. They can't have long, narrow faces, but they can't have smooshed faces, either. No buggy eyes, no bull dog underbite. Not too poodle-y, and definitely no weiner dogs. No shaking, no yapping, no frills. Pretty much, they have to look like this or this for me to think they are cute. But I really do love all animals. It's not their fault they're ugly. So I say to the dog, "Well, hello to you too, you scruffy little thing," scratching the top of his head and doing my tipsy-best to be polite.

"Bridgette, he needs another hair cut," says the owner over her shoulder to an employee, trying simultaneously - I would assume - not to be offended and to imply, "He doesn't always look so bad."

Not to be misunderstood, I decide to follow with, "He's so ugly, he's cute." Really. I said that. Yikes.

"Bridgette cut his little beard before but he's in need of another one," she tries again. She really is so sweet, she is earnestly trying to stay professional and let me off of the hook for my insults. But I continue. Surely she is simply misunderstanding me.

"My mom has a dog who has this same kind of crazy, wirey hair," I say, tugging slightly on the long white hairs on the back of the dog's neck. "I'm always loving on him and telling him, "You're not that attractive, but I love you anyway.'"

At that, the owner decided to move away from the dogs and talk about the business at hand. She kept a smile and acted as if I hadn't just called her dog ugly. Over. And over. And over. God bless her.

When we walked out, my husband busted up laughing and said, "Wow. You really don't have a filter when you're tipsy!" Oh geez. He noticed. And here I thought I had covered well. As we continued to walk around downtown and my one-cocktail-buzz wore off, I felt increasingly awful about what I had done. I can't believe I could be so tactless! Ugh. How embarrassing. If I ever go back in there - which I sincerely would like to do! - I think I'll go in costume and sport a British accent.