D.L. Mayfield

living in the upside-down kingdom

The St. Valentines Day Massacre

We celebrated Valentines day on the 13th, because I had to teach on the actual holiday (nothing says romance like 20+ refugees/immigrants getting utterly confused by another weird American holiday. I tried to make the best of it by bringing cookies and chocolate, and in the end a good time was had by all. Even though they still don't understand it).

My awesome sister (who is famous now, btw--check out her kitchen on the kitchn!) offered to baby-sit. We jumped at the chance because the grandparents are going to India for a month and it looks like no date nights for awhile.

We splurged and went out to Thai food, and we didn't even have a groupon. I know!

It was delicious, we were having fun and smart conversations, and then I got a call from the sister:

the baby fell in the tub and cut her chin and there is a lot of blood and I think you should come back.

Date night over!

We went back home and the baby seemed fine. It was my poor sister who was more traumatized--her sweatshirt was covered in blood--but the baby got a little tylenol and got a ton of books read to her, so she was happy. It turns out that cuts on your face bleed a lot. Who knew?

We ended the night by watching the season final of Downton Abbey 2. Epic.

 

I am starting to think we have a curse . . . every time we try and have a proper date or go away for a night one of us either gets the flu or busts their head open. Fun times.

Good thing we just live like it's Valentines Day every day around here.

 

 

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