St. Valentine, a priest, and Ralph Wiggum walk into a bar...

Once again, I find myself in the UF computer lab between classes. Using a public computer on a university campus will quickly get you in touch with your inner Howard Hughes (the germ-phobic part, not the aviator/billionaire/seduce-every-starlet-in-sight parts). The mouse is always toasty warm from the previous user, the keyboard has a fine patina of skin sells and encrusted filth, and it's best to avoid touching the underside of the desk unless you're really desperate for some chewing gum. Perhaps I should just carry around some hand sanitizer and not think about it too much.

It's very difficult to segue from a germ-rant to a Valentine's day story unless you're in the third grade and live in constant fear of contracting "cooties." I will accomplish this transition by taking a moment to honor Ralph Wiggum, the delightfully dim Simpson's character featured in the classic Valentine's Day episode, "I Love Lisa." I choo-choo-choose you, Ralphy!

I will now move from Ralph Wiggum to an anecdote about a certain Anglican priest that I'll call "Rob." As a service to the church (by way of preserving the domestic tranquility of its clergy), I've gotten in the habit over the years of reminding Rob at the end of January that he needs to book a babysitter for Valentine's day a week or two ahead of time. Rob is a man of many gifts, but organization is not among them. He has particular difficulty recalling dates and appointments. In the case of Valentine's day, he remembers that there is one, and that it occurs somewhere in February. This confusion could partially be accounted for by all the movable feast and holy days he has to deal with as a priest. Those of us who know Rob are pretty sure that the real source of the problem is a flaming case of ADD. Like myself, Rob has the type of ADD that necessitates attaching mittens to snowsuits and forces mothers to explain why "it's not nice to color kitty with the magic marker" to bewildered eighteen year olds.

The first year of his marriage, Rob's "Oh, it's February- time for Valentine's day" alert elicited a faint flicker. He proudly arrived home with a bouquet of flowers for his lovely wife, "Sandra". It was only February fourth, of course, but Sandra bemusedly recieved the offering in the spirit it was intended. I am sure that the incident was just as endearing to her the next nine times this scene replayed itself over the ensuing decade. Rob, however, was not about to let the Uh-Oh pixie trick him an eleventh time.

Enlisting the aide of his trusty secretary, Rob managed to sail through February 4th with only a faint nagging feeling in his head, as if he'd left the stove on or forgotten one of his kids at the gas station. Rejoicing in his victory, Rob failed to notice that Sandra's manner was a touch cold at dinner, and only growing frostier with each bite of the ice cream served at desert. Thankfully, Sandra started crying before hypothermia set in, weeping bitterly that Rob had forgotten Valentine's day entirely that year. Apparently, there's something to be said for consistency if one has to do without accuracy. Needless to say, Rob quickly explained himself and everyone had a good laugh. He's gotten Valentine's day right every year sense, though he still waits until the night before to ask me to babysit.

P.S. Remember those nasty, chalky candy hearts with the messages on them? Now they're new and improved!