Valentine's Day is coming up, but I tend to dislike that kind of hallmark holiday, designed to make one buy cards and gifts. I prefer to celebrate the love I have for my wife, and the love she has for me, every day of the year. It cheapens it to only celebrate it one day.
My wife is the most wonderful woman on the planet - or in the universe. She is smart, beautiful, sexy, kind, loving, caring and considerate. I am the luckiest man in the world.
Even if you are propositioned by the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders, and spend the evening playing hide the salami in a vat of caramel and vanilla ice cream, before going on to judge a "most skillful cocksucker" contest, and then, whilst walking home, have a multi-million dollar winning lottery ticket blow into your face, I am still luckier than you. That's how wonderful Mrs Doombreed is.
I was the luckiest guy in the world the day I met her, and I just got luckier the day she agreed to marry me.
And I don't need it to be Valentine's Day to say it.
I love you, Mrs Doombreed, and I am happy beyond words that I have you to share my life with.*
*None of which, of course, means that Mrs Doombreed will miss out on Valentine's Day, where gifts, cards, and general, all-round treating-her-like-the-Empress-she-is will occur with almost sickening abandon.