When I got my paycheck, it was still warm from the printer. There's nothing better than a warm paycheck. It's as if the money is still moving around in there, anxiously waiting to be released into the local economy.

This is my first check after becoming a real full-time no-i-don't-need-to-call-my-agency employee. They gave me a nice raise for coming on board. So nice that I'll be suffering from fat wallet syndrome in a few hours. It'll be the first time that's happened since well before the wedding.

I was actually paid much more than I had been expecting. I had spent most of the time since I was hired trying to downplay the amount of money that would be coming. I had performed such a successful job of psyching myself out that my jaw dropped when I saw it. I immediately called my wife at work, leaving a giddy voicemail for her:

"Baby, uh, we're rich. Call me."

She calls me back, and drone on for a decent twenty minutes about all the money we have, and all the bills we're going to be able to pay, and how everything is better, and how we should go out to dinner to celebrate...


"You don't want to go out for dinner? Why not?"

"It's Valentine's Day."

I had completely forgotten. This is because Valentine's Day was one of those things that I blissfully deleted from my memory once I met her. She hates Valentine's Day with a burning passion that I rarely see in day to day life. Valentine's Day is her enemy, and it must be destroyed at all costs. This is just fine with me, as I don't have to go through the motions of buying candy and flowers just because every other yutz in the world things this is such a fscking brilliant idea. Bunch of dumbasses. Have fun wasting your hard-earned cash because the Hallmark store says so. Um, anyway...

Instead, what are we doing? We're taking that short drive to Indiana and blowing this fatty paycheck on cigarettes and booze! See, this is why I married her. Have a fun Valentine's Day, suckers.