As You Like It: Romance is in the air

We went out with another couple on Saturday night and they asked us how long we’ve been married. “Thirty-three years,” Steve and I answered almost simultaneously. I saw their eyes widen and realized that my husband and I are probably not the norm when it comes to married couples these days. We’ve been married for a long time and have known each other for even longer. We must look really well preserved because sometimes people ask us if we met in kindergarten.

But as many of you already know we first laid eyes on each other in high school, sophomore history to be exact. But it wasn’t until our junior year that we really got to know each other, so we were 16 when we met, 17 when we started dating. If anyone out there is doing the math that means we’ve known each other for over 43 years.

I was looking through my desk calendar last week when I noticed something that I had jotted down in red pen. On February 12 I had written, “Our first date” and drawn a heart around the words. How had I never realized that our first date occurred so close to Valentine’s Day?

Every year I look forward to Valentine’s Day. Shatz hates it because he considers it a phony holiday, but I get sucked into the hearts, flowers, chocolate and romance even after all these years, or perhaps I should say especially after all these years. There were many years when the girls were little when I turned it into a mother-daughter day, buying them chocolates and cards and making a special dinner for them. And then one year I sent out cards to all my friends thanking them for their friendship, but suddenly these last few years I’m back to romance.

I was actually annoyed that February 14 comes on a Sunday this year because that means that all the restaurants will be crazy on Saturday night. Shatz and I agreed that we’d rather stay home and have dinner in front of the fireplace. For a few days we thought that Mariel was coming in that weekend, but when she realized that the weekend included Valentine’s Day she elected to stay home. I was kind of relieved because I was really looking forward to a tête-à-tête with my husband. I seem to have a real need for romance lately.

And now that I realize that it’s also the anniversary of our first date, I want it even more. I’m being perverse because as much as I adore my husband, romantic is not the first word that comes to mind when I think of him. He will never whisk me away to a secluded island, or buy me five dozen red roses, or hide a diamond ring in my chocolate mousse. For him love is much more substantial than champagne bubbles. It’s an everyday get-up-in-the-morning-face-life-together-and-fall-into-bed-still-together-at-the-end-of-the-day thing. And I agree with him completely, but every now and then a girl needs champagne bubbles. But after our first date I should have suspected that he was no Errol Flynn.

The first hint was the timing of our date — we went out on a Saturday afternoon, not usually a heavily romantic time. Then it turned out that yes, he asked me to a Broadway show, but only because his parents had tickets they couldn’t use. And when his mom told him to ask someone out he originally asked his good friend Charlie. I got an invitation only when Charlie couldn’t make it. So right from the beginning it was clear that this man would not sweep me off my Keds.

But I accepted happily because I thought he was cute. I spent hours picking out the perfect dress and working on my hairdo and make-up. To his credit, Shatz dressed in a sports jacket and dress slacks though the color of his jacket was blindingly gold. Off we went on our subway ride into Manhattan.

For months we had been really friendly in class, chatting up a storm and for my part, flirting like crazy, so we were anything but strangers. So I couldn’t understand why he refused to take my hand or get too close to me and why our conversation was about as lively as a funeral. I couldn’t figure out what had gotten into my cute guy from English class. Months later he would tell me that he was so nervous that day that he could barely swallow let alone speak. You see, I was his first date ever.

The rest of the afternoon didn’t get that much better. The play was wonderful and afterwards our hamburger and fries dinner at Schraftt’s on Fifth Avenue was yummy, but the only time he took my hand was when we crossed the street. Finally, when he walked me to my door I decided to take things into my own hands. As he stood there stiffly, wishing me good-night in about as dashing a manner as a leper, I grabbed him and kissed him on the lips. When I let him go he was a little dazed, but there was a definite smile on his face.

So, like our first date, I‘m going to have to take the initiative when it comes to romance this Valentine’s Day. After all, if it’s champagne I want I’m going to have to supply the bubbles.

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Posted by Joan Florek Schottenfeld on Feb 11 2010. Filed under As You Like It, Opinion. Both comments and pings are currently closed.