There's no point in denying it — I botched dinner.

I got her a gift, which was well-consulted upon and very thoughtful. It went over well (a basket of vert de bamboo scented bath items from The Body Shop, with a gift certificate for a massage tucked surreptitiously inside).

But I screwed up our dinner plans. This screwage is a direct result, as it turns out, of not making dinner plans; I am told that this is a fairly dependable causality relationship. Calling around to neighborhood restauraunts in the "way too damn late" timeframe did little in the way of improving the situation.

Erin and I discussed my incompetence on Wednesday. We decided to just make it a regular dinner at home; we had already exchanged gifts (and flowers were on the way) so our debt to St. Valentine's Day seemed filled.

On the way home, it struck me that I could get home early, swing by the grocery store, get some food, light some candles, and salvage the evening. There would be wine! Romantic lighting! Appetizers! Dessert! I would be a hero!

Except, you'll note, that I thought of this on the way home. I was already on the road, at the usual hour, ten minutes into my trip. Even if the gods of Highway 101 smiled upon me, I'd be home a good 20 minutes after Erin (to say nothing of stopping at the grocery!). No heroism for me.

Fifty minutes later, I was home. It turns out that Erin had been struck by the same inspiration that I had had.

But — and this is why she is great — she was able to make it happen.

I love her.