How should old people celebrate Valentine's Day?

Young people don't really want to think about old people "doing it." Young people don't want to think about old people at all, unless the old people are pulling freshly baked brownies out of the oven.

I showed Tom, who is not young at all, this photo and he said, "Oooh yukk." So even old people don't really want to see old people "doing anything like it."

There's reason to be afraid of aging. This is what happens to all of us, if we should be so lucky as to live long enough. No one wants to die, but no one wants to be old either.

My butt is 8 to 10 years from looking like this woman's

We old people went to Costco to have a "dawg and a Coke" for $1.50 to give our non-nod to Valentine's day. This has become a tradition over the last few years. We don't want to do anything that American advertising wants us to do: we don't want Valentine's Day to be a major holiday. We don't want jewelry, expensive chocolate, and overpriced flowers. We don't want to sit in crowded restaurants with the hormonally gifted.

We got engaged forty-eight years ago tomorrow. The day after Valentine's Day. I love that. I love that it wasn't Valentine's Day.

On Valentine's night, forty-eight years ago, I opened the front door to find Tom spreadeagled on the porch with a pink paper heart covering his face, the eyes and mouth cut out. "Happy Valentine's Day," the mouth said.

This morning, on the way to work, he said, recalling that night: "I was such a goof," a disgusted edge to his voice.

"I thought it was charming," I said. And I began to sing him old love songs: "Embraceable You," "My Funny Valentine," and "You're Just Too Marvelous for Words." He joined in.

"You need a haircut," I said.

"Tomorrow," he said. "And I need to get the oil changed too."