Let me preface this by saying that I’m not a big fan of Valentine’s Day. I believe it to be an overwrought concept that Hallmark blew up and every woman in the world decided could be held over their man’s head … “The sword of Damacles is hanging over my head … that ain’t no lie!”
For my loyal readers, all four of you there may be, I’ll warn you this post has nothing to do with real estate. Except that it does in as much as real estate is the dominant function in my life. As I complain about new build agents who don’t seem particularly inclined to come to the office on their day off to write a contract, I secretly miss those times when there was such a thing as a “day off.” Instead, I work a grab-bag of hours usually adding up to well over 40 but spread across seven days and varying degrees of sun and moonlight.
Somehow, my wife Kathie puts up with this. And she’s done so since I left Charles Schwab (not necessarily of my own doing but with enough effort put into the departure) and went into the real estate trade. She even puts up with my occasional bouts of sobriety.
She also put up with our “honeymoon” being a trip to Las Vegas for a Jimmy Buffett concert. But she got a gondola ride at The Venetian out of it and a trip to a Cirque du Soleil something or another show.
Kathie fell in love with me for my writing. Most of you who glance at this blog probably can’t figure out how. Somehow I convinced her I was a pleasant individual with a great sense of humor. Which, of course, I am. At least some of the time. I’m staring at a card that says I’m a “happy ending” kind of guy, which probably is true though not in the way that the card intends. And “happy ending kind of guy” does sound better than curmudgeon, ogre or miserable prick.
It is Kathie who somehow got me to wear an “I’m With Cupid” T-shirt out in public last year. It made her happy and so I did it. Truthfully, I’d much rather spend my time trying to make her happy than working the real estate business but we’re in a market where it’s very difficult not to devote the bulk of your time working for more business.
Yes, I wish she’d stop sitting in my office staring at me like I’m a hippopotamus on display. “Watch out, kids! His ears are wiggling!” Yes, I wish she had not gotten me hooked on VH1’s “Rock of Love” and “The Bachelor” (though the latter’s much better after a couple of beers.) Yes, I wish her cat would stop meowing in the middle of the night to say hello.
But no, I wouldn’t have the slightest idea what to do if she were not with me.
There’ll be a time when the market turns when Valentine’s Day will be spent with her chasing Peter Pan at Disneyland, knocking children to the ground to get her picture taken with a petrified 17-year-old in green tights … um, not that that’s ever happened.
Until then, I hope this rambling homage will suffice for saying I love you.