Ellie Slott Fisher

It’s Valentine’s Day and if you’re a man it’s the one day all year you’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t.

Forget to send flowers and she’ll think you’re not romantic. Send them and she’ll wonder why they aren’t a dozen long stem roses.

Buy a box of candy and she’ll find the receipt. You know, the one that also lists shaving cream and deodorant. Don’t buy candy and she’ll think you’re hinting that she needs to go on a diet.

Chose a card because you like the picture and she’ll be disappointed in the sentiment. Is it for the “Love of my Life” or  “My Special Someone” or so generic she’ll wonder if you meant to give it to your elderly neighbor.

Ignore her requests for you to do nothing as in NOT A THING on this holiday and well, lots of luck tomorrow.

Like I said, damned if you do and damned if you don’t. So how can I help? By suggesting that you do whatever it takes to show her she is the most important person in your life. Hopefully, you know her well enough to know what that means. Do that, and then some more.

Besides finding the appropriate gift; definitely think sexy lingerie, a cashmere sweater or jewelry (she can tell her friends and coworkers about these or better yet show them), this holiday also demands a meal, one for which you’re responsible. Is there a romantic dinner for two planned for tonight or for this weekend? Is there a wonderful home cooked meal (by you, of course) with candles, wine and a decadent dessert? Or are you coming in from work, dropping the grocery store bouquet of flowers on the kitchen counter and saying, “What’s for dinner?” Uh. Not tonight.

So if you’re reading this blog at your desk and thinking you have plenty of time to take care of Valentine’s Day, please step away from the computer. The Hallmark store already has a line, the flower shop is running out of roses and pretty soon Burger King will be the only place left that doesn’t require a reservation.

I wish you a very Happy Valentine’s Day, and good luck!

I have a pet peeve that apparently annoys no one but me. It has to do with the amount of space people leave between them and the person in line in front of them. Inside the bank, the post office or the Dunkin Donuts, the guy in front of me always seems to stand a good six feet behind the customer who is currently being waited on. It’s as if he is fearful of eavesdropping on a confession. Right, I tell the coffee shop cashier my deepest secrets. Don’t you?

“Move UP!” I want to scream. “He’s ordering a large coffee with cream and one sugar, not planning a hostile takeover!”

For years I have observed only men doing this. Women appear much more comfortable cozying up to the stranger standing in front or behind them. A couple of feet of space is more than enough. They don’t act like the male customers at CVS, for example, who allow so much wasted space between them and the person at the counter that I could push four shopping carts – ear to ear – through the space. And this reminds me. I really hate when this happens and I invariably get pushed back down an aisle, where I find myself staring at on-sale Christmas candy. Come on. You know I’m weak.

But lately, I have found that women have begun developing the same habit, backing off from the person in line in front of them, as though they forgot to bathe. Frequently, they are so preoccupied texting or talking on their cell phones that they are completely oblivious to the cavernous spaces they create.

Does anyone else see the irony in all of this? With social media, cell phones, and cameras on every inanimate and animate object, we already have zero privacy. So why do we suddenly feel the need to create a force field around us when we are actually WITH other human beings.

We hold onto our little personal acreage like squatters, forcing the person behind the counter to yell across the room, “Can I help the next in line?”

I hate this part, too.  I don’t want to yell from my otherworldly location, “Make that a double caramel latte with vanilla and non-fat.” Whose business is it to judge me on my breakfast drink? Hah, a double caramel latte with syrup and she bothers with skim milk! I can actually hear the snickers.

Well, I would, if I weren’t standing so far away.

The week between Christmas and New Year’s is a little like the Bermuda Triangle. The days seem to vanish without a trace. We’re not even sure what the date is, or day of the week, for that matter. We’re in limbo with our calendar. We can’t toss aside 2011 because we just might miss that hair appointment on Friday, yet we need to peek ahead to next week. Next week being next year.

It’s easy to put off everything until “after the holidays.” It’s a satisfying feeling, giving ourselves permission to procrastinate. We get to postpone what at any other time of the year, we’d insist upon getting done.

Need to make that dentist appointment? Wait until after the first of the year. Want to start that diet? No sense doing it while we’re still going to holiday parties and finishing off the Christmas cookies.

This week between Christmas and New Year’s is actually a gift. There’s no guilt associated with delaying the inevitable. You’ll never reach that insurance guy anyway because EVERYBODY is on vacation this week. So don’t even bother.

For me, this is unstructured time. I submitted my final grades nearly two weeks ago, and I don’t resume school until the third week in January. I purposely stressed out myself between Thanksgiving and Christmas, finishing next semester’s syllabus and lesson plans so I could spend my month vacation doing what I love most: writing. But even that has a way of evaporating during the Bermuda Triangle week.

Is there really a need to write a new blog? After all, it’s the week between Christmas and New Year’s and my readers are too busy playing, celebrating, vacationing to sit at a computer and read. At least that’s what I tell myself.

While we enjoy this week which soars in and out with the seamless speed of Brigadoon (I’m a total sap for that movie), we know that as soon as New Year’s Day is over, all hell will break loose.

So, enjoy the remaining days of 2011 and even if you match me as an obsessive Type A, know that this is the one week of the year that you can put off today what you can do tomorrow.