Girl, some guys save all their love just for Valentine”s Day, but I”m going to treat you right every day of the week.
On Monday, you will be awakened from your dreamy slumber by the sweet smell of flowers, for I have lavishly scattered rose petals about your bedroom during the night. You will notice a card on your bedside table. It reads: “Baby, if I was a florist, you”d be my biggest seller a long-stemmed dream come true.”
When you come home at night, I”ll be waiting with the wine, a light Merlot to make you feel fine. I”ll build a crackling fire in the fireplace and I will open the flue such as that we are not asphyxiated. As I lay you down on the bearskin rug that I acquired from the Salvation Army, you”ll feel a shiver course through your body. Mmm, baby, that”s the touch the feel of bearskin, the fabric of our love.
On Tuesday, I will start off the day with breakfast in bed. Once I have finished eating, I will move to the kitchen and prepare you the most extravagant brunch of your life. Cinnamon crepes, eggs hollandaise, Bob Evans sausage girl, your taste buds will be drunk on the heady spirits of flavor. As I pour your coffee, I”ll gaze into your eyes and say, “A little cream, but no sugar “cause, baby, you”re sweet enough as is.”
On Wednesday, when night falls while we are at your apartment, I will lead you into the bathroom where you will find a bubble bath awaiting you. Candles will be alight, and the air will be heavy with steam and heavier yet with romance. Sweet lady, you will feel your pulse quicken as I slowly peel your clothes from your body and gently guide you into the bath one lovely foot at a time, so as not to send you crashing to the linoleum.
That”s right, baby: I will never bruise you.
The warm, bubbly water will feel wonderful against your body, as I have used the most exotic, finely scented oils known to Johnson and Johnson. As my fingers caress your moist skin, I”ll sigh, “Girl, you can leave a filmy residue in my life whenever you want.”
On Thursday, we will have dinner with your parents, and I”ll be the boyfriend they”ve always dreamt of for you: Charming, caring, respectful and heterosexual. Girl, sooo heterosexual. I”ll treat your mother like a queen, commenting that “she looks 45 going on 21,” and I”ll compliment your father, remarking that “he”s a leader among men.”
They”ll smile warmly and whisper to each other things like, “He”s a keeper” and “I want to touch him all over.” I”ll blush and say, “I”m flattered, sir, but it”s your daughter that I love.”
On Friday, I will prepare a quiet dinner for three: You, me and Mr. Marvin Gaye. Baby, we will not make it to dessert.
On Saturday, we will travel to the Meijer video rent-a-center and obtain romantic comedies from the mid-“90s. The Faygo Grape will be chilled, the popcorn will be popped and, baby, the cuddling will be intense. Damn. Girl, we”ll be all sleepless in Unsung Ann Arbor, because we”ll be traveling to a realm of visceral ecstasy that usually exists only in French novels.
And, mon cheri, I”m so very fluent.
On Sunday, I will take you to church. And, baby, by that I mean I”ll put some Rev. Al Green on the hi-fi, burn some fragrant incense and anoint you with the sacred oils of St. Christopher”s Church of Sensual Massage. Special lady most high, I”ll get holy with your thigh. You earthly angel, I”ll sooth your every angle.
Close your eyes, my dear, and you will hear my soft prayer in your ear:
“It”s been some time since my last confession,
And, baby, I”m due for a final concession:
Woman, you drive me to sin,
To a world of pleasure I”ve never been
So Lord have mercy and let me on in.”
Chris Kula”s column runs every Thursday, but, mmm … girl, you can contact him anytime you want at email@example.com.