Sunday February 14th, 2016

The exercise:

Write about: Saint Valentine.

Either the real one(s?) or one you come up with yourself.

Had a lovely dinner out with Kat this evening while Max ate with Kat's parents. We had a four course set menu, with two choices for appetizer, main dish, and desert. We both went for the salmon option for our mains and ordered one of each of the other two. Very, very good food.

I am sleepy now, so let's get to it.

Edit: ah, not fast enough to avoid the lengthy nap on the couch, I see.

Mine:

A holiday in my honor,
Long after I am a goner?
Full of hearts and cards and dinners,
For all sorts of naughty sinners?

That's all fine and well I suppose,
As long as the men still propose.
And, not to kill the romance, but
Go on and tell me: What's my cut?

2 Comments:

Greg said...

That sounds like a nice meal! And a nice evening out without having to worry about Max... though weren't his grandparents feeling romantic?
Your Valentine seems to be a very modern saint, not minding too much what's done in his name provided he's getting paid for it. I think I rather like him or her :)

Saint Valentine
This late at night the Pont de Res was empty of traffic. The taxi sped across, the moonlight illuminating a man standing at the side, staring over the edge, and turned out onto a wide boulevard. Trees, spaced at even intervals, lined it all the way along to the triumphal arch. The taxi pulled up just after the arch and Leboudeau got out and paid. The soldiers stationed at the arch watched with disinterested eyes as he crossed the road and went into the door of the brightly lit restaurant. Through the windows they could see him reach a table and sit down.
"Your wife?" Christie's lips were thin and shaded a handsome vermilion. Her eyes were like grey slate, and her hair, uncurling very slightly at her temples, was shading to white. On the table in front of her was a just-opened bottle of wine and two empty wine glasses.
"I ground valium up into her sardines-on-toast," said Leboudeau. He sniffed; the air was redolent of cooked beef and tawny port. "A vile concoction she developed a taste for when she was staying in Portsmouth a few years ago. I had bouillabaisse, of course."
Christie smiled, her lips parting and her mouth opening like a letter-slot in a post-box, revealing white teeth like gravestones.
"Your husband?" asked Leboudeau.
"I sent him a note from his mistress." Christie's voice was deep, basso profundo. She poured wine into the glasses. "And I sent his mistress a note from her daughter, and I sent that daughter a note from her teacher. There are so many people out there looking for love this evening, in all the wrong places."
For a moment they said nothing, tasting the wine and feeling the heat of the restaurant soak into their skin, the smells into their clothes. Around them, couples leaned in across tabletops and kissed across candle-flames, scorching their throats and chins.
"Expense account?" asked Leboudeau. Christie inclined her head.
"Is this romantic yet?" she responded, and Leboudeau inclined his head in turn.
"Happy Valentine's day."

Marc said...

Greg - Kat's parents aren't the romantic sort, I'd say. So they were quite happy to have Max's company :)

Thanks! I think I might have to revisit this saint at some point - I think he's got a lot more to say!

Hah, these two are quite the pair. I especially enjoyed Christie's resourcefulness with all those notes creating some impressive misdirection and chaos.