There is no doubt in my mind that Jeff called in sick today. All of those scented declarations of affection send him into emotional distress. He opts, instead, to drink too much on February 13th, thus making the 14th fade into the haze of a hangover.

On the other hand, Laine, is reaching the midterm of her February dating frenzy. February has been her magic month ever since our junior year in high school in 1988 when she passed me a note in precalc class littered with flowers and lavish curly handwriting, proclaiming the "opening day of the February Fling!" This year is no exception, clocking 3 anxious suitors with two full weeks left to go. Her streak is enough to make any girl believe in the power of prophesies scribbled onto fringed paper ripped from a spiral-bound notebook.

I suggested a few restaurants in Boston's South End where Debbie and Dave could celebrate with a delicious dinner served under dim lighting. And I'm going to assume that Todd and Hayley are dining at Pomodoro on the other side of town, because with Todd, assuming the obvious is always surefire success.

Joanne and Tom met on Valentine's Day. On a blind date. Just after Joanne had given up her black leather jacket and Central Square clubbing lifestyle in favor of the maturity associated with her 28 years, only to meet Tom: owner of a record label, frequenter of the Boston music scene, love of her life.

Me? I'm simply in love with Valentine's Day. It's the whole February thing. SweetTart Hearts and red, red, red lipstick. And this year, Paris is just two days away.

Isn't it romantic?