melted hearts

And this is why I'm not allowed in the kitchen.

Ok, so I gave you the punchline before the joke. It wouldn't be the first time. The joke may not even be that funny...and yet, I suspect you'll laugh, despite the fact that I cried. But as my mother never said...there's no use crying over melted hearts.

We're just a few days away from Valentine's most dreaded holiday, if for no other reason than my husband (or Mr. Lincoln, for that matter) isn't a fan. Will there be hearts and chocolates? Doubtful. Will there be cards and flowers? Not likely. Will there be bickering and slammed doors? As the Magic 8 Ball would say, "All signs point to yes."

But does that mean the holiday is a wash? Hardly. In fact, I planned a pre-holiday gathering with a bunch of girl friends and we dragged our friendly neighborhood Pure Romance consultant to my house for an evening of delight and debauchery. Or as the laymen put it...a toy party.

Yes, we had a sex toy party at my house Saturday night.

Now, before you go trolling the gutter, a sex toy party isn't code for girl on girl porn. It's really just a fancy Tupperware party where the plastics sold are shaped more like penises than bowls. And sure, they sell lotions and oils...powders and make-up...but let's not mince words...the girls were there for the dicks.

Cakes...dick cakes.

dick cake.jpg

One of my friends baked a cake shaped like a penis, and we all know how much women like red velvet cake, right? It's true.

So as we laughed...ok, cackled...the evening away, playing games with a dick of cards (I can't make this stuff up, I'm serious) where the prizes were flavored oral sex creams and body chocolates...we snacked on penis confections, dipped strawberries, and a homemade wine punch served by my husband before he got the hell out of dodge. 

Before the end of the night, I was even lucky enough to win a warming heart...a re-heatable mini heart-shaped massage pillow to snuggle with on the cold nights we've been having.

So tonight, I decided to fire up the boiling water and heat up my mini-heart to cuddle up to while I watched TV. But as anyone who knows me very well knows, I should never be allowed to operate the stove. After tossing my heart into the pan and setting the burner to medium-high, I proceeded to get lost in edits and surfing the net, completely forgetting I had something cooking...or rather burning, in the kitchen.

Yep, that's right. I melted my heart into a pile of pink ash. And possibly ruined my favorite pan in the process. And my weekend was going so well up til then.

I can't wait to see what Valentine's Day has in store for me. With my luck, I'll get stung by a bee sniffing roses or come down with a fatal allergy to chocolate.

Or worse...someone will steal my toothbrush again.

Until the next time...I'll be scrubbing my heart from the bottom of a pan.

Copyright © 2000-2018, Erica Lucke Dean. All rights reserved. Any retranscription or reproduction is prohibited and illegal.
Posted on February 11, 2013 .