Valentine's Day

In grade school, most classes would have Valentine's Day card exchanges. I spent what felt like hours at Walgreens, poring over premade box sets adorned with cartoon characters. If there were 30 kids in my class, should I get a box of 28 cards that had better candy (like gummy lifesavers!) or a box of 36 that had inferior candy (like chalky candy hearts)? Would my classmates think I was too girly if I gave out Disney Princesses, or too boyish if I handed out Bugs Bunny? These terribly agonizing decisions were an indicator of just how charmed my life was.

It was a rule that everyone had to get a card if you were going to give them out, so no one felt excluded. I always thought it was silly, since no one really reads the cards anyway--unless you had a crush on someone. Then any and all words written, however sparse, were suddenly full of hidden meanings and wishful thinking.  

In fifth grade, I decided that I would forgo the traditional simple shoebox that sat on our desks, collecting Valentines. I wanted something better. I liked attention, and knew how to get it. So I came home, locked myself in my room, and thought of the most clever design I could: a replica of an oven.

It started with a shoebox. Then I attached a functional cardboard hinged oven door to accept cards. I used plastic wrap for cut-out oven window. I painted the box black and adorned it with silver temperature adjustment knobs cut from aluminum foil. I even made little dish towels from lace to hang from the oven door handle. I'm pretty sure my parents were baffled as to why I kept running from the kitchen to my room, grabbing bits of this and that, while staring at the range.

I brought my masterpiece to school on Valentine's Day and it did exactly what I wanted it to--elicit ooohs and aaahs from envious classmates. Some were confused as to how to open the oven door to chute the valentine card inside. I ended up writing a note that said "PULL ME" and attaching to to the door handle, but not without mentally rolling my eyes. It's an oven, after all. Children.

The only thing that Valentine's Day taught me was that I could have been an engineer.

The end.