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Because I am a fully licensed professional writer, a veritable master of verbs, nouns and hyperbole, it is only reasonable that my wife receive a well-crafted love letter now and again.
With Valentine's Day bearing down on us faster than the speed of light (to use a hyperbole -- or possibly a cliche), I figure it's time to sling some sentimental sentences of swoon. Something like…
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
My name is Burton,
And I truly love you.
Sigh. That's the problem. Like a lot of guys, I stink at love letters. I don't mean we're slightly off-base. We're flat-out awful.
It goes back to the first love letters we ever wrote.
Remember that one? Sixth grade. You tore a strip of paper from the bottom of your math homework, and composed something creative and complex:
"Marie, do you like me? Circle yes or no."
It was exhausting! You thought the words would never come.
You crumpled the paper and slipped it to your buddy at the desk in front of you. "Pass it up to Marie. And don't look at it!"
Your buddy, naturally, looked. And hooted. That alerted the teacher, who confiscated your romantic missive. She read it aloud for the whole class to enjoy. Which they did. Uproariously.
It was the first, and last thing, you and your intended shared -- you both wanted to sink through the floor and die. In fact, Marie considered helping grant your end of the wish.
After such a traumatic experience, it's hard not to be suspicious of love letters.
The love lines worsened a couple years later when we heard the most classic example of what romance is supposed to sound like:
"My darling, if you'd but ask, I would climb the highest mountain for you. I would swim the deepest sea to earn your unending love."
This stuff sounded great! So sincere. So macho.
Until we figured out that a woman who'd require such feats of fatigue is way too high maintenance. While you're fending off sharks and octopi during your paddle across the Pacific, what, exactly, is she going to be doing? Sending bachelor contestant No. 2 across the arid desert while she buys new shoes?
I settled for something much more practical: "My love, if only you'll be mine, I'll change light bulbs, kill spiders and cook dinner every Tuesday."
Or I would have. Technology robbed most of us guys of the ability to write. We're not even sure where the love note paper is kept anymore.
We don't write, we text. We don't express our feelings, we post emoticons. Emoticons wearing sunglasses, if at all possible. To show that we're cool.
This is why greeting card companies are still in business. They write what we don't know how to say on paper we can't find.
But news articles claim women yearn for an old-fashioned love letter from their guy. Don't think of it as a chore. It's a sweet tribute to that special someone who, perhaps in a moment of insanity, chose you.
I'll start:
"Terry, after all these years, do you still love me? Circle yes."
I don't see any sense in offering a second option -- that's the only choice I'll need when she writes me.
— Post to Cole at burtseyeview@tribtoday.com or at the Burton W. Cole Page on Facebook.