Valentine's Day

The world of development apparently very busy, as feel have not had a second to think about self (Question: perhaps for the best?) World of styling even busier, and so Valentine's day is entirely forgotten until afternoon phone call with Dave. Agree to menu (lamb chops, mashed potatoes, sauteed, wilted greens) and plan on meeting at apartment for Cozy homemade meal. Meal at home on snowy nasty evening, not at all an original idea, and Citarella is exactly like zoo. Hear woman on phone waiting in line for the fish counter saying, I'm at Citarella, it's really crowded! She repeats this sentiment very loudly several times--can't imagine what person on other side has to say to comment except, oh really. Brave butcher line and make it to check out line. While waiting, feel superior and disdainful about couple who have salmon in plastic container from pre-made section and who at last minute grab chocolate dipped strawberries from display--continue same train of thought until realize that am being nasty to the extreme and not in keeping with day of love. While waiting, cashiers constantly yell, Step around! Next customer step around! Reach head of line (step around!) and proceed to cashier. Tell checkout lady, I don't need a bag, if you could just fit it in here (vexing canvas bag), that would be great. Swiss chard (why Swiss?) potatoes, lamb, oranges and coffee, stuffed into bag on top of unidentified scraps of paper, collection of pens, uneaten orange, and calculator. Place book on top of pile and have horrifying vision of self as crazy old Greenwich Village lady (not the first time have had same thought--perhaps prescient?) Get home and rip off outer layers. In kitchen, peel potatoes and set on stove to boil; trim chard, slice garlic. When potatoes almost done, warm up broiler--old-fashioned kind that slides out from bottom of oven with a hideous squeal. Season chops and slide drawer in. Get started on cooking greens by first toasting garlic. Turn chops, finish greens, drain potatoes, and set them back on the stove to dry them out, then add cream, butter, salt and pepper. Chops are done. Take out from broiler to rest. Dave gets back from walking Jenny, both look frozen, and pours wine. Serve plates. Chops eaten very thoroughly--having learned from past experience, serve Dave two chops and self one. Dave eats the the easily reached meat and and then passes chop on to me. I tell Dave that he is missing the best part, the tail--the little piece of meat and fat that curls off the top of the chop. Dave shudders and says that he doesn't like that word. One I've eaten the tail and gnawed on the bones, chops are given to Jenny, who at first seems worried and sniffs at bones as if maybe they've been poisoned. Once she is satisfied that our motives are honorable, she retreats to corner of kitchen were every last scrap is licked off bone. For dessert, Dave has made a chocolate souffle, which is eaten with ice cream. Feel have eaten very well indeed, and sleep comes quickly and lasts long. Work from home this morning and have encore of same meal for lunch today, left over (fallen) souflee and heaping portion of ice cream included, telling self firmly that In This Weather one needs to eat heartily.