Romance is delicious, like Taco Bell

There comes a time in a relationship when the meaning of romance changes. There is a real evolution when it comes to love. I remember the “golden years” of my courtship with Schuyler. The flowers for no reason, the surprise dinner dates and fancy restaurants, the carrot cake he baked for our first Valentine’s Day because he knew that carrot cake is my favorite.

Now, well, romance has taken on a different light. Gone are the days of flowers, pastries, and dinners that involve cloth napkins and wine lists. For example, last weekend Schuyler took me on a date. We went to see the Dracula play in Orange Park. The plan was to go to a nice Mexican place before the play. Well, due to the accident on I-295, we were running short of time. So my man treated me to Taco Bell and a package of Sour Patch Kids from Publix. At least dinner represented all the major food groups: meat, cheese, and sugar. Nutritional and romantic!

Or like last night when I drunkenly tipped over my friend’s Mountain Dew as I was stumbling out of her car. Schuyler mopped it up with Taco Bell napkins, allowing me to run into the house to go to the bathroom. It was a dire bladder situation. It looked like I was smuggling a cantaloupe in my pants. Turns out, I was just carrying around 5 beers and a gordita.

Why does Taco Bell always show up in my stories? Sweet refried bean nectar of life. Arriba!

Perhaps the most romantic thing Schuyler does? He scoops the kitty litter box. Without being asked. And let me pose this: which would you prefer? Some delicate pink roses on your kitchen table (which my cats will surely chew on, thus ruining them in about 4 hours) or a de-biscuited, minty-fresh litter box?

Call me old fashioned, but I’m going with the clean litter box.