It was the morning of Beans’ and my first valentines day. I was 10 weeks pregnant.
With my one year old son, PJ, in my arms I walked up to Bean’s front door and rang the bell.
“Hello! Hey guys!” Beans greeted us.
He was wearing his trademark big, dumb grin. He hugged and kissed both of us.
“I have a surprise for you!” He said. “Follow me.”
Beans led PJ and me towards his bedroom.
“Open the door!” he told me excitedly.
So, I did.
Then, I started laughing.
Hysterically.
PJ’s eyes grew huge and he ran inside flailing his arms.
Beans was such the romantic. He blew up about 150 red and white balloons. He had filled his room with them.
Just when I thought he couldn’t be any sweeter, he handed me a gift.
It was a bottle, wrapped in tissue paper and tied shut with a giant, red ribbon.
I opened the wrapping and read the label.
Dom Perignon.
“Wow. Thanks, Beans. We will have to save this.” I said.
“Save it? No, way! Open it up.” Beans ordered.
“Beans, I can’t drink this! I’m pregnant!” I reminded him.
“One glass won’t hurt the baby. It’s Valentines day, come on!” he begged.
“Beans, I don’t want to drink this! I’d rather save it! I won’t enjoy it if I’m feeling guilty about it!” I was getting frustrated.
“It’s a special occasion and I want to drink some. I had my cousin get it for me from the restaurant half price. I’ll get you another bottle after the baby is born.”
With that beans popped the cork. He poured each of us a glass. Then, he put the bottle in an ice bucket.
I followed Beans outside, PJ not far behind me. Beans placed the ice bucket on his patio table. Next, he lit a cigarette and sipped his Champagne. If by sipping I mean he drank the entire glass in one gulp. He poured himself another. Feeling guilty, I continued to lightly sip mine.
Two teenagers walked up.
“Wow! What a cute kid! How old is he?” The teenage girl asked.
“He’s One.” I said.
“So is my daughter! I don’t look old enough to have a daughter, do I? People always tell me how young I look. I’m twenty!” She lied. “I’m Susan! This is George.”
“Hello!” Beans said. “Ya, you definitely don’t look twenty! Good to meet you guys. How’s your Valentines Day going?”
“It could be better Sir. I’m really trying to win this contest to go to Europe. I was hoping you could help me out.” Susan said to Beans.
Bean loves to help people.
“Maybe I can!” Beans replied. “What do you need?”
“I’m trying to sell these magazines.”
Susan handed Beans an old, wrinkled up magazine order form. Beans started reading.
“Everything is on sale for a flat fee of twenty bucks for a years subscription today, sir!”
“That sounds like a good deal! Do you have Guitar Magazine?” Beans asked Susan.
“No Sir. But I do have Rolling Stone right here!”
Beans turned to me, “What do you think.”
Heh heh heh heh heh! Beans is SO DUMB!
“Ya, I totally think you should buy it! That’s a great deal!” I encouraged him.
Beans loves to shop.
With that Beans pulled out his typical roll of twenties (usually ‘borrowed’ from his families restaurant cash register) and handed one to Susan.
“Is cash OK?” Beans asked.
“You know what they say about dead presidents? They don’t bounce!” Susan joked.
With that she hand wrote a receipt and handed it to Beans.
“Here you go, sir! Your delivery will be here in two weeks! I’m even going to put a note on your door that says,
‘Steer clear! Susan was already here!’.
That way if anyone else comes around trying to sell you magazines they can see I’m already on my way to Europe and they will leave you alone.”
Susan tore her little hand written note off her pad and taped it to Beans door.
“Last thing, Sir. Do you know anyone else around here who may be interested in purchasing a magazine today?” Susan asked.
“Go ask the guy upstairs!” I pointed, laughing.
I loved this!
By the time Susan had left, Beans was just about finished with his bottle of champagne.
“Let’s go inside.” I suggested. “It’s cold out here. I’m hungry. Where are we going for our ‘Valentines Day Lunch’, anyway.”
“Anywhere you want. I’m just going to lay down for a bit.”
Beans walked into is room and passed out on his bed.
He didn’t arise until sundown.
Two months went by. I jokingly asked Beans if his magazine had arrived yet.
“No! It hasn’t! I had forgotten all about it!” Beans answered.
I laughed and I laughed. I laughed some more.
Then, after I pissed myself, I broke the news.
“It’s not coming Beans! You got scammed! Hahaha aha ahahahaha!”
“No! I didn’t get scammed! Why are you being such a Bitch?” beans asked.
“You are SO DUMB, Beans!” I continued.
Beans did not like this. I was a lying bitch and Beans was going to prove it.
With that Beans got on his phone. He called up Rolling Stone and complained. You know what? Rolling Stone felt bad for Beans, getting swindled! They actually sent him a free years subscription!
The first months arrived right around the time we were moving.
Beans never bothered to call Rolling Stone and do a change of address with them. So, he only actually received that one issue.
It didn’t matter. In Beans eyes he had won that round.
I never did get my post-baby bottle of Dom Perignon.
It's not my fault. 
Quite a jolly blog you have here…… it keeps a smile on my face.
Thanks for showing interest in what I put out too.
I sincerely hope you continue to find my works entertaining & pleasurable.
Be safe.
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I just love the twists and turns your stories take readers on. I hold tightly onto my laptop and buckle myself in not so much for the ride but for the memories you awaken of my misspent youth. When I was a college freshmen some magazine sales company set themselves up in an empty store front offering high pay jobs selling magazines. They gave us a script and drove us by bus to the high density, high crime part of town with housing projects. My friend Sal and I walked in one door and out the other. Sal had an idea to take names off the mailboxes and fill in order forms. We trotted off to the deli and searched for those names in the phone book. Sal made the calls telling people they were getting magazines and may be called to verify the address. Be sure to tell them your zip code. We made nearly a hundred bucks which wasn’t bad for a day in the mid sixties. Years later he made millions selling stock on Wall Street, and I wrote a pre-sentence memorandum the judge wept over. He received probation and reminded me of yhis story when we walked out of court. Never under estimate the value of an education no matter who pays for it.
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Lol! That’s hilarious!
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