Take that, V.D.

I had two different “we’re single—woooo!” girl dinners planned, and both fell through because of the snow and schedules and desires to nap on the couch and watch American Idol (all more important than trekking uptown to down wine this time, we agreed). Even the backup backed out, and I went to plan C, going to the gym on Valentine’s Day.

There is no justice in this world.

Okay, I went out afterwards to impromptu dinner at Chumley’s and he brought white tulips, which I held as he jumped across the street to push a Mercedes out of the snow, and when it finally worked, with the aid of another passerby and the victim's girlfriend's incompetent driving skills under the waft of burning rubber, they hugged him and yelled their thanks.

Is this is any indication, a forecast for this weekend: a planned country with a capital C whirlwind of bottling wine, a fireplace to warm toes and seeing what could be…if at all…not to mention, oh yes, a colonial town. Does anything bring star-crossed lovers together more than candlemaking? I think not!*

*No dipping wick jokes, please, besides being utterly tasteless and utterly untrue, this is a family establishment...