Romance is Dead. Like, Beat with a Stick and Buried Dead, but then Reanimated in Zombie-like Fashion.

The Hubby gave me my Valentine's Day "gift" last night.
It was a Snoopy love card.
Because he's nothing if not immaturely charming.
Inside was a note.  I'll rephrase what he wrote and intersperse my thoughts as I read it.

You're really hard to buy for (Diamonds dude. DIAMONDS. Not difficult at all.) so this is an IOU for a night out.
Let's get a babysitter (which means I'LL have to do the work and find one) and go out just the two of us.
(oh dear Lord.  He wants to have sex.)
We can do dinner and a movie (Yeah right, $10 a person to get into the damn theater these days) or maybe even go zombie shooting at the range (oh joy.  Shooting guns.... wait.  WHAT?  ZOMBIE HUNTING? With a real gun?  FUCK YEAH!!)  
Turns out the shooting range provides zombie-themed targets.  So I get to shoot a real gun for the first time and play zombie apocalypse at the same time.
Oh Hubby.  You're so getting some after this.
A perfect, anti-romantic, yet romantic gift for Valentine's Day.

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I am a wife, mommy, and all around productive member of society. Usually. I'm pretty much a legend in my own mind.


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