Bob has heard a theory. Bob did not invent this theory, Bob merely picked it up like a shiny object left unattended by history. The theory goes that the classic love heart shape did not come from poetry or anatomy textbooks, but from admiration. Specifically, admiration of a lady’s buttocks or, depending on posture and optimism, a bit of cleavage. Two curves. A point of focus. Symmetry that stops a man mid-sentence. When you see it, you cannot unsee it. Bob has tried.

This explains a lot, actually. It explains why men nod thoughtfully at Valentine’s cards. Why we stare at heart-shaped balloons like they’re ancient art. Why, when accused of “not being romantic,” we insist we absolutely are. We love hearts. We look at them constantly. They are literally everywhere in February and we are very focused on them.

Bob believes this is where romance gets unfairly graded. Men are visual creatures. We see a heart and think, “Ah yes. Excellence.” Women see a heart and think, “Where is the effort?” Both are correct, but only one of these involves staring quietly and feeling things.

Bob has studied love the way a raccoon studies a trash can. Patiently. With curiosity. And occasionally upside down. After years of observation, Bob has reached a conclusion so simple it squeaks when you step on it: love is attention, delivered with a grin, and sometimes punctuated by a respectful, fully consensual tap to the behind. Not a wallop. Not a surprise attack. Just the universal Morse code that says, “I see you. I admire the craftsmanship.”

Bob wants to be clear. This is not a year-round free-for-all. This is ceremonial. Context matters. Timing matters. Consent matters. But when done right, that tiny gesture carries the weight of poetry. Shakespeare would’ve used it if tights allowed the range of motion.

Now, Bob also understands that February 14th arrives every year like a winged, chubby accountant with a clipboard, auditing effort. Men panic. Florists rejoice. Chocolate gets emotional. And suddenly everyone’s asking big questions like, “Is it too late?” and “Does Amazon deliver romance before dinner?”

If you have not yet acquired a gift, Bob suggests calm breathing and practical thinking. Love is not always diamonds. Sometimes it’s preparedness. A fresh mop. A sturdy broom. Tools for conquering tomorrow together. Nothing says partnership like synchronized floor maintenance. Buy them now, in anticipation of the big day, so when Cupid starts flinging arrows and invoices, you can say, “We planned ahead.”

And before anyone gets ideas, Bob would like to remind you that affection is not a once-a-year subscription. If you only remember admiration on Valentine’s Day, that’s not romance, that’s a calendar alert. Love is the small stuff, spread generously across ordinary Tuesdays. Compliments without prompts. Help without being asked. Laughter in the kitchen. And yes, the occasional playful cheek tap when the moment is right and the smile is already there.

So this Valentine’s Day, don’t overthink it. Show up. Be kind. Be present. Bring a gift if you can. Bring effort even if you can’t. And remember Bob’s golden rule of love: grand gestures are nice, but consistency keeps the lights on.

Bob out.