Is It Normal To Call Your Valentine A Shitface?

I'm a very lucky girl.  I know this.  I have a number of people in my life who love me and tell me so on a daily basis.  One of those people is E2.  My Erik. 

Sometime around the sweet inception of our relationship, he initiated the ever popular tradition of discarding one's tried and true birth name and replacing it with a more tender, meaningful name.  In my case, I was christened Pumpkin. 

I remember thinking to myself, "Pumpkin?  Did he seriously just call me pumpkin?  The hell?".

In response, I immediately dubbed him, My Little Dumpling Nugget Butt.  He was not impressed.  And I'm lazy.  It was promptly shortened to Dumpling.  But why stop there?  Why impose an extra syllable when one is more than satisfactory? 

It was shortened even further to Dump. 

Three years later, when he's not referring to me as "Ginger", I answer to "Pump".

And so it was, Pump and Dump took the day off work to celebrate Valentines Day together.

With the sun just beginning to peek through the bedroom curtains, he bestowed upon me a dozen beautiful red roses followed by breakfast in bed.  A tray laden with plump strawberries with creme fraiche and brown sugar.  Buttery, flaky, still warm croissants and the most perfect, refreshing mimosas you could imagine.

The morning turned to afternoon as we spent the day languishing in bed enjoying first the breakfast, and then each other.  Before we knew it, the day was completely wasted and we'd accomplished absolutely nothing and had to return to the daily grind the next morning.

That scenario sucks.  So instead, for Valentines Day this year, I requested we spend the day snowboarding.

Presented the night before Valentines.  No time for this B.S. on V-Day.  There's snow waiting to be frolicked in.

And frolic we did!

The sun was shining, most of Salt Lake was at work, and I was a very happy girl.

See?  Happy!  My mouth was a little frozen, otherwise I would have looked as happy as Dump.

Hadn't bothered to take off my board.  I'm not usually such a leaner.  I AM usually this lazy.

 It hasn't snowed in a while so everything was pretty tracked out.  The only powder we could find was through the trees.  In a mistakenly optimistic assessment of my skills, I thought it wise to follow Erik through one such run.  Shockingly, I didn't make it.  I unstrapped one foot, stepped down and sunk into powder past my knee. 

Awesome.

10 minutes of huffing like an asthmatic being choked out by their lover with exceptionally meaty hands, I finally made it back to the safety of groomed runs.  I sat recuperating and sent out silent prayers of thanks to the tree limbs that were sacrificed in my struggle to pull myself out.

It was not okay.

And neither was this...

Pretty sure it's a widely known fact that shitface is a term of endearment.  Especially on Valentines Day.  Right?  What.  Just me? 

Welp.

A few more runs and I could feel my legs turning to jelly.  One of the things I love most in this world is sailing down a mountain, wind whipping my hair behind me and ripping at my jacket.

One of the things I like least in this world is sailing down a mountain with tired jelly legs that have become too lazy to dig in hard enough to make the turn.  I've made the mistake of wanting "just one more run" when I've gotten to this point.  It never ends well for me or my noggin.  It was time to go.

Erik's winning smile!

Exhausted but happy.  I really am one very lucky and very loved girl.