Valentine's Day

Hmm, maybe I'm losing my touch as the apostrophe police, diluted down by the Australian relaxed attitude towards the apostrophe. After 2 years of seeing "egg's 4 sale" and "wall repair's" advertised on high-quality, commercially produced signs, I might have been a little desensitized. That's why, when writing out a greeting on Feb. 14th, I found myself faced with 3 options.
A day belonging to the valentine, Valentine's Day.
A day belonging to all valentines, Valentines' Day.
A day of valentines in general, Valentines Day.
(and has anybody else noticed that it is abbreviated VD? Coincidence?)

My ponderings were cut short in the morning of the day in question by my preparations to make this a truly memorable (if not romantic) day.

First, and this is important, Kris got up and did the dishes. A gift from her to me, I like to think. Then I got up and got ready for a triathlon. Yes, another one. No, I'm not getting any better at swimming -- quite the contrary.
This race was held in fresh water, and warm enough that I wasn't able to use the wetsuit. Not that I needed it to keep warm, but I have become reliant on the suit and saltwater to keep me somewhat more bouyant, and without those two aids, it was the worst swim ever. Kris has videos of the lifesavers, after everybody else is out of the water, trying to keep themselves amused while I inched nearer the finish. I am more and more appreciative of whoever named this stroke the crawl, as that seems appropriate.
I thought that the bike and run had gone okay, but the clock said otherwise. Cursed technology.
All the while, Kris has been absolutely starving. She declined by polite offer of a tube of Gu, but was sitting at the finish dreaming of an omelette. It was a late-starting tri, and by the time my race was done, and the elite runners were in, and the spot-prizes had been dished out, and the medals awarded, it was 4:30, and Kris was ready to gnaw off her own hand. Or mine.
A snack bar behind the seats of the car saved me from being savaged, but we were still bitterly disappointed that the restaurant that serves my new favorite dish, Fish on Fire, wasn't open yet. Instead, we returned home and, while I tried to unsuccessfully to scrub off the race number, Kris made huevos, trying to build up energy.

After all, we would need our strength, for it was only 16 hours after we got done eating that we needed to pick up the moving truck. And we had yet to pack...

Happy Valentine's' D'ay'!