Last year I made all of my students chocolate covered pretzels for Valentine’s Day. Having already made them chocolate covered pretzels for Christmas (albeit in different colors), I suppose I shouldn’t have been all that surprised when one of my snarkier teenagers whined, “Chocolate covered pretzels? AGAIN?” But I was surprised. And frankly, I wasn’t all that amused. Especially because I’m the only teacher who takes the time to make anything for my students so you’d think they could at least say “thank you.”
Needless to say, they’re not getting anything this year. Especially as I spent the weekend watching Star Wars with The Wedding Date and trying to wrap my head around the first of the Euro tile-laying (whatever that means) board games to which he’s decided to introduce me.
But my little beach balls are different. They’re getting proper Valentine’s Day cards—every single last one of them—even if it kills me.
Why, you ask, would it kill me? Well, here’s the thing…
Every once in a while I’ll get a call from my mom while she’s out shopping. It usually begins with, “Hey, I’m at Target/Ikea/Five Below” and then turns into “and I just found the cutest stickers/glow-in- the dark necklaces/miniature Nutcrackers. Do you want me to pick them up for your students and if so how many do you need?”
This is how I ended up with two boxes of temporary tattoo Valentine’s Day cards.
Sounds great, right?
The cards are perforated so first you have to tear the little f*ckers apart without tearing them apart. (Can you tell I haven’t done this in a while?) Then you have to tear apart the tattoos, which are about the size and shape of fingernail and hardly worth the effort in my opinion. Next you’ve got to ignore the totally inappropriate Valentine’s Day messages imprinted on each card (“Let’s hang out, Valentine” and “You’re irresistible!”) while inserting the tattoos into little pre-made slits in each card.
Then you have to fold them all in half, trying to keep the tattoo from falling out, and finally, last but not least, seal each one with a small red, heart-shaped sticker which was designed—presumably—but someone with very little knowledge of volume or space or whatever it is that would have assured the sticker was actually large enough to hold the card together.
Thankfully I started addressing the cards on Friday.
I’m usually pretty good with arts and crafts (and assembling and addressing 30 Valentine’s Day cards hardly constitutes advanced DIY in my book) so I figured I could finished both classes in about twenty minutes. That, unfortunately, was before I discovered that the Valentine’s Day cards that my mother so eagerly selected for me were actually the Valentine’s Day cards from hell.
Cross your fingers for me, folks. I still have fifteen left to go.