It was a beautiful morning today, bright and sunny, and the promise of tonight’s sweet romance buoyed my already buoyant spirits. And though I’m not from the faith that technically believes in a “St. Valentine,” love’s universal, right? What, I asked myself, could possibly go wrong?

What indeed.

As I strolled down the street, I thought about tonight, and gave thanks for living in the enlightened world, where freedom is on the march and people can express themselves more or less however they please. Because tonight was going to be a celebration of love, and that sort of celebration can’t happen in the un-free parts of the world. Keep that in mind; it is our freedom that allows us to love. Will they be totally scoring in bedrooms around Iran tonight? I doubt it. But we’ll be doing just that! Awwwwww yeah…

Of course, there were some metaphorical dark clouds hanging overhead. My wife’s been on my case about the election. Apparently, she wanted to vote. Did you let your wives try to do that? Did they want to? Well, mine did, oh yes, yes she did. And failing that, she wanted to demonstrate. I love her, so I kept her at home. As I headed towards the florist, I silently thanked heaven for Valentine’s Day, which was sure to take her small, sparrow-like mind off of the subject.

The day wasn’t going to work out right, though. I should’ve taken in the omens, seen the signs, read the ol’ writing on the wall. F’rinstance, as I walked past the school. There was a clue. It was burning. Yes, the fire trucks were arriving, but there were still some little girls trapped inside. If only they’d been more modestly dressed though, they might have been saved. What kind of monstrous headmistress allows little girls to go around with their faces and arms bare during the day? As though it’s inconceivable that something like a fire might happen and their lack of decorum would be paid in blood… It made me furious to hear their screams as they were held back from leaving the burning academy. I would have offered them some last minute words of comfort, but I couldn’t look at them without risking pollution. Once again, a big “Thanks, Headmistress!” Very modern. Very cute. Now you’ve got a bunch of burned, dead girls and I’ve got a serious bummer hanging over my Valentine’s Day.

Anyway, when I got to florist, there was another surprise. No red roses. At least none on display. What? Isn’t this Valentine’s Day? Is he sold out, I wondered, or just holding out for the highest bidder? The florist turned his eyes down passively.

Undeterred, I asked after the roses a bit more forcefully, and the florist seemed to crack a bit. Pressing my case, I offered an exorbitant fee for the flowers, twice what I would have paid on any other day. Suddenly [surprise!] he changed his tune: Yes, yes there just might be some red roses left. He scuttled down to the basement and returned with - you guessed it - an admirably romantic bouquet of red roses for my deserving wife. Hallelujah! It’s amazing what a little insistence can do. A pain in the ass, sure, but it was all going to work out fine, I thought…

That is, until the police burst in and caught me holding the bouquet. Red-handed, as it were…

So now I’m in prison. I shoulda seen the signs. I should have just bought my wife some candy. But no, I had to be the Big Romantic…

I can’t blame anyone but myself. I crossed the line. A free society has to have rules, or else the freedom-hating terrorists have truly won. So my loss will be my family’s gain - they’ll know what they can and can’t do in a really immediate way, they’ll learn from my mistakes. That’s what freedom is all about.