Nothing compares to a punny Valentine’s Day play
A columnist pens a stubborn little love letter to take the sting out of Huntington's
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Every year, I write my wife, Jill, something romantic in this column, such as a Valentine’s Day play. This year, she looked at me, half amused and half worried, and said, “Carlos, I don’t know how you haven’t run out of puns by now.”
The real issue was unspoken: How many more years do we have before Huntington’s disease makes everything, even laughing at my bad jokes, harder than it already is? Then, she added: “If you include more than five puns, I’m leaving you.”
I disagreed with her after she started to walk away. (Between us, as you will read, there was no chance I’d ever stop at five.)
Scene: A flower shop that’s inexplicably also a restaurant, bakery, and art gallery. Carlos enters wearing a tuxedo made entirely of construction paper hearts. Jill is already there, eyeing a display of heart-shaped pastries.
Carlos: (Bursting through the door) Jill! My butter half! I’ve been searching olive the town for you.
Jill: (Sighing) Carlos, we agreed to meet at this art gallery.
Carlos: Every moment without you is a waffle lot of time wasted. I had to ketchup to you.
Jill: Why are you wearing a paper heart suit?
Carlos: What better place to wear my heart on my sleeve — and everywhere else — than at this heart gallery.
Jill: But Carlos, we’re in public.
Carlos: (Pulling out a bouquet of vegetables) Speaking of public displays of affection, I brought you these.
Jill: Are those … carrots … and iceberg lettuce?
Carlos: Yes! Because orange you glad I’m here? And lettuce celebrate Valentine’s Day together!
Jill: I can’t even.
Carlos: You’re the apple of my eye, and I’m bananas about you.
Jill: Please, stop. Puns are bad enough, but fruit puns? They’re just too much.
Carlos: Cit-rus got real.
Jill: That’s it. I’m leaving.
Carlos: (Grabbing her hand) Wait. I’ll be grapeful if you stay.
Jill: Carlos …
Carlos: Don’t leave. I Camembert to lose you.
Jill: Did you just make a cheese pun?
Carlos: You feta believe it.
Jill: You’re unbrielievable. (An aside, to the audience, meaning you, dear readers) Oh, no! Do I have punitis, too?!
Carlos: (Dropping to one knee) I just want you to know that, even though Huntington’s makes life difficult sometimes, I’ll never dessert you. I cannoli imagine life with you, not without you.
Jill: Did you really just transition from cheese to Italian food?
Carlos: I’m a man of many pastabilities!
Jill: OK, that was terribly bad in a sea of terrible.
Carlos: (Presenting her with a cupcake) Speaking of terrible, I know I’m crumby because of my puns, but because you bake me crazy, I had to make this cupcake. It’s the yeast I could do to show my love for you.
Jill: You don’t know how to bake, so where’d you get that cupcake?
Carlos: Iran to Dunkin to show you that I doughnut know what I’d do without you.
Jill: Do you spend all your free time just thinking up puns?
Carlos: (Hugging her) Ayatollah when we first met, puns stick to me like glue. And now you’re stuck with me. Glue and I are stuck together … forever.
Jill: Even with Huntington’s making things harder?
Carlos: (Softening) Especially then. You’re my everything, Jill. Huntington’s might make life challenging, but it could never make me love you less. You’re still the most amazing woman I know.
Jill: Carlos, I …
Carlos: Plus, without you, I’d be sodapressed!
Jill: You really know how to ruin a moment, don’t you?
Carlos: I can’t help it! I’m just trying to get to the root of what makes us special. You’re treemendous! Wood you be my Valentine?
Jill: (Rolling her eyes, which may or may not be chorea-related) Yes, you absolute lunatic. Come on, let’s go home before you start making geology puns.
Carlos: I wouldn’t stoop so low, my gem.
(Mercifully) The End
Jill just read this and said, “If you publish this, I’m changing the locks.” I told her that would be unlocky for both of us.
She just threw a pillow at me.
That was fair.
In all seriousness, behind every ridiculous pun is a real message: Huntington’s gives us a ticking clock, so we answer back with bad jokes and loud laughter, because that’s one small way we repeatedly choose joy over fear. Every silly joke, every groan, every eye roll is us planting another flag on the tiny hill of “we’re still here, together, and this disease doesn’t get the last word.”
So, yes, this Valentine’s Day play is absurd, excessive, and probably a crime against literature. But it’s also our stubborn little love letter that takes some of the sting out of Huntington’s — and transforms into Puntington’s.
Note: Huntington’s Disease News is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Huntington’s Disease News or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to Huntington’s disease.
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