Valentines, with pita

Love was in the air last week. I was talking with a friend about marriage. Specifically, happy marriages. I was saying how much of it is luck. She said, "What about you? What about what you did to make your luck?"

I don't have an answer for that. It reads to me like the cockiness that precedes the swift kick in the ass. So I keep my head down, feeling grateful for this solid, delicate thing. I don't look too far ahead and fear even talking about it too much.

I was looking ahead, though, on Wednesday night, while we were having dinner at Mijana in Burlingame. They make their own fresh pita, and I knew Scott would appreciate that. Only later did we appreciate what a stroke of genius it is to head out of the city for dinner on February 14. Easy parking, easy reservations, no attitude, no inflation.

We were sitting on the banquettes eating pita (crisp outside, soft inside) and great falafel (crisp outside, soft inside) and savory beef kebab (tender all over). I noticed a group in the corner, 3 couples, early 50s. The men were clustered on one side of the table and the women sat opposite, leaning in to each other and away from the men. It was like a junior high dance. Everyone was having fun. Cheeks flushed, eyes bright, laughing. It was a holiday gathering, just not a romantic one.

It's a silly holiday, of course. But...is it possible to avoid the "oh you again" sinkhole? I have this allergy to couples who refer to each other as "this one," as in, "This one spends so much time on the toilet, I had it engraved!" No, we hope for Alice and Calvin, not Alice and Ralph.