When I was about sixteen, I had been dating my first "real" boyfriend for only a few months. We shall call him Edwardo (that wasn't really his name...I'd like to keep that anonymous. Edwardo just has a nice ring to it don't you think?). My mother, recently divorced and a hot commodity on the market, had been dating hers for about two weeks. We were both pretty giddy about our relationships. To be honest, she didn't like Edwardo very much and I was a little unsure about this new man that my mom was spending so much time with, but we enjoyed swapping stories and comparing the two of them. It almost became a weird sort of competition: Who's boyfriend was better?
It was almost Valentine's day. It was my first VD when I would get something from a boy who I actually liked instead of those generic Valentines that everyone passes out to everyone in third grade. Needless to say, I was pretty pumped. I had spent weeks picking out and planning Edwardo's Valentine's Day present....which to be completely honest, five years later, I can't remember what on Earth it was. My sixteen year-old-self was positive that my 18-year-old boyfriend had put in just as much thought and planning for my gift as I had with his. In retrospect, Edwardo was probably a lot more concerned with how much Taco Bell he could eat in one sitting and how much money he could beg off his dad for new guitar strings than with a present for me.
So, the big day rolled around. Edwardo and I probably did something vaguely romantic in a high schoolish way, like go to Steak'n'Shake (again, the details are a little hazy). My mother and her boyfriend stayed at home and, in my 16-year-old opinion, were lame old people who never did anything fun. After Steak'n'Shake, Edwardo and I went back to his house for the big gift exchange. We went up to his room ("Keep the door open!" hollered his mother), and got out our pretty Valentine's presents. Or, rather I got out my prettily wrapped present for him, and he got out a grocery store bag for me. We were off to a good start. Edwardo tore into his present like a wildebeest into an unattended pork tenderloin. Naturally, he was delighted by my thoughtful, expensive, and meaningful gift(maybe I bought him a pair of boxers? I have no idea). Then, my heart pounding, fingers tingling with anticipating, I began to open my so...um...cleverly wrapped present. Maybe it would be a gold necklace with my initials engraved on it. Maybe it would be a beautiful diamond ring and a declaration of his undying love, or maybe it would be....a generic heart shape box of chocolates with the price tag still on it ($8.99). Awesome. "My mom picked it out" Edwardo said, obviously pleased with himself. I was speechless. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Instead, I graciously thanked him, neatly tucked the box back in the grocery bag, and suggested we watch a movie, already planning the phone call to my best friend later that night ("He did what!?")
The next day, I was in my mother's room, telling her all about the oh-so-wonderful evening Edwardo and I had the night before. I asked her what her boyfriend got her for Valentine's day, confident that even my cruddy box of chocolates would trump whatever this guy could do. "Oh, nothing special" and she pulled out this tiny bag. Inside, is a Hershey's Kiss melted to a graham cracker. Mom seemed overjoyed with the gift; I was a little confused. It didn't seem like anything great to me. It just seemed sticky and cheap. Then she read me the card: "This is our first kiss! You make me melt!" Darnit. It was super sweet, thoughtful, and sickeningly cute. Everything that Edwardo's gift was not. Admitting defeat, I sulked off to gorge myself on Walgreen's chocolates and pout. You won that round, mother!
To this day, I'm pretty sure mom still has that gift. It's probably completely inedible at this point, but it's the thought that counts. And if any of you out there are thinking of stealing this idea, go for it. I'd hate for any other girl to get a generic heart shaped box from the pharmacy that someone's mom picked out last minute. I didn't even get a card!
-Hanna, the summer intern
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