I decided to let Babe make the Valentine's Day plans this year. I'd done most of the planning in previous relationships, and I'm plenty ready to sit back and be romanced for a change. Babe and I didn't go on any real dates together before we hooked up and got together, and I bought him a suit this past Christmas so that he wouldn't have "I have nothing fancy to wear" as an excuse for not taking me out.

Yesterday, Babe called me about 45 minutes before we were supposed to head up to Ruth's Chris Steak House, to say that his only pair of dress shoes don't go with his new suit. Strike one: not trying on the outfit before the event. After some deliberation, he decided to wear the shoes with the suit instead of dressing down. So I got fancied-up to match. My only pair of semi-dressy shoes didn't go well with my whole outfit either.

When I arrived at Babe's, I hit my head on the trunk door latch while getting something out of the car. Oh, what a sting! I saw stars for a couple of seconds. In my stunned state, I almost called Babe from right outside his place to tell him I'd been injured and couldn't make it.

I managed to stumble upstairs to his apartment, and he greeted me at the door with "hello". Strike two: not telling the girl she looks mighty nice in her fancy dress and face within minutes of beholding her in all her glory. (Stike two and a half: rarely ever telling the girl he likes the way she looks.) Before we hurried out, I checked out my forehead and saw a big bump and a bit of blood. Luckily, I've been parting my hair over that area since last month.

There were a few tense moments at the restaurant when the people-seater-people (what these people are called temporarily escapes me) couldn't immediately find the reservation Babe made three weeks prior. They leafed through a couple of binders before finding it on a list of a bunch of names and credit card numbers. Get computerized already! Well, the food more than made up for this near snafu.

I hadn't eaten at Ruth's Chris before. Probably the best steak I've ever had in my life. Ribeye. I don't do fillet anymore. I don't do prime rib anymore. Not after this latest ribeye and the one I got last weekend in Reno at Ruby River Steak House, which is another excellent place for steak.

On our way home at a stoplight, Babe spotted a man in the car to his left being serviced by his female passenger. How that may or may not have affected me and/or him and our activities within the following hour, I may never know...

Babe told me in advance, before I gave him his Valentine's Day gifts, that he hadn't had time to write in card for me. Strike three. I suggested we exchange gifts the next day instead, to give him time to finish getting it all together... to which he responded that the card was also the gift-holder.

So we exchanged gifts after Babe hastily wrote an unsentimental message in the card. He got his first pair of silk boxers and a gift certificate for a massage at International Orange. And I got a check for $150. Strike four (yes I know there is no strike four in baseball). I figure the only women who get checks or cash for love on Valentine's Day are prostitutes.

But actually, I appreciate the check a lot. Babe specified that it's to be used specifically towards the new the laptop I'm going to get in the near future. This month, hopefully.

I let him walk, despite all the strikes. Hell, I even let him score. 'Cuz though he didn't give me a romantic Valentine's Day, I do believe he's still the best friend/lover/boyfriend combo for me. It would be silly to think that the minimal effort he put into this Valentine's Day is inidicative of the amount of effort he puts into the whole relationship... wouldn't it?

We capped off this unromantic night with Bowling for Columbine. It was thought-provoking. Made me consider living in Canada for a couple of minutes. Nah... I'd totally hate it there.