The only problem is that I (like many men) don't have a romantic bone in my body. Not one. My sense of romance, if it was ever there to begin with, has withered and died along with my youthful ideals, dreams of six-pack abs, and my long-range jump shot.

This poses a very big challenge for me since my wife has a keenly developed sense of romance. Like a blind person who has a tremendous sense of hearing and smell, my wife, who has been forced to live in a romantic vacuum, can sense romance in everything. She points out beautiful sunsets and old people staring into each other's eyes. Sappy birthday cards make her cry. She wants to hold hands with me while walking in mall. It's sickening.

But, because I love her (and I'm afraid of repercussions), I have to try and pull a decent Valentine's Day present out of my backside. So this year, I've decided to use awesome power of spam email to help me narrow my search. After spending several anxious seconds combing through my Deleted box in email, I plucked some candidates out for this year's Valentine.

American Blinds, Wallpaper, and More: Nothing says "I love you" like a nice set of vertical blinds. Or perhaps that crazy fruit print wallpaper that my wife had on her kitchen walls back in 70s. In perhaps weakest marketing move in recent memory, American Blinds, Wallpaper, and More is pitching their products as Valentine's Day gifts. For those of you desperate enough to consider this, I can suggest a few good divorce attorneys, or perhaps a good motel for night.

For most illnesses, my wife would just "suck it up" and get her cute little behind out of bed, fully realizing that nothing would get done around house without her. But today, she was lingering beneath bed covers. That's how I knew she was really sick.

My wife is tougher than Randall "Tex" Cobb on his best day (and for those of you who don't know who Randall "Tex" Cobb is - shame on you!). Her finely developed sense of martyrdom compels her to force herself into activity, even in face of killer cold. Being caring husband that I am (and not wanting her germs spread through entire house), I suggested she stay in bed.

So, even though it was a Sunday, which is a very inconvenient day for her to be sick (because I usually park my large, ugly behind on my favorite chair and watch TV all day), I knew I would have to "suck it up" and do something feared by most men. Parenting.

For me, watching kids for an entire day is nothing short of exhausting. And kids don't seem to want to make it any easier for me. You'd think they'd just sit there and watch TV all day, like Daddy.

But no. They want me to feed them. I made my first blunder by asking what they wanted to eat. "Pancakes," shouted my daughter. "Buttery eggs," shouted my son. "How about cereal?" shouted Daddy. Unfortunately, since I'd already made mistake of asking, I was trapped.

Lucky for me, my wife has good sense to purchase microwave pancakes and egg beaters just for these kinds of emergencies. I was saved from forcing Cocoa Puffs down kids' throats, and after getting most of dishes into sink, I tried to sit down and watch TV with kids.