Valentine's Day gift-giving is a delicate enterprise laden with potential land mines.

	Dan Marsula, Post-Gazette illustration Click illustration for larger image.

It is the thought that counts, but some thoughts are great while others are downright lousy.

"To be truly creative and romantic, take into consideration what your loved one really wants or needs ... as opposed to a generic romantic idea like chocolates and roses -- unless, of course, your loved one really loves those things," says Emily Porter, spokeswoman for www.snapconcierge.com, a personal concierge service based in Richmond, Va.

The first Valentine's Day Christina Neft spent with her then-boyfriend Stu in 2001, he was sick with a horrible cold. Feeling sorry for herself, she sulked.

"Here I was with a steady boyfriend, and all I was getting to do for Valentine's Day was watch him blow his nose," says Ms. Neft, 41, of Edgewood.

She was even a bit nasty to him, she says, but after she opened her present, she felt like "the luckiest girl in the world."

The Christmas before, in a brief conversation at her mother's home, Stu had learned that her favorite childhood doll had been lost in a 1987 flood.

"I barely remembered even telling Stu about the loss, but he showed me that he not only paid attention to that story, but knew how touched I would be to see her replaced," she says.

She opened the Valentine's gift box to find a pristine, blond and bespectacled Mrs. Beasley doll from the '60s TV show "Family Affair."

"It was at that moment I knew this man, like Mrs. Beasley, was a keeper!" says Ms. Neft, now happily married more than four years.

What her husband did, staying alert for gift hints or clues, is an excellent gift strategy.

"If you really listen to [your beloved], there will be times when they mention things that they want or need but wouldn't necessarily think of asking for as a gift," says Ms. Porter.

In that vein, Sharon Neumann believed she had a great gift idea when her then-boyfriend told her he needed a filing cabinet.

The year was 1989. They were dating long distance and living in different cities at the time -- she in Chicago and he in Abilene, Texas.

She decided to buy him a filing cabinet, wrap it and take it with her on a visit to Abilene. When he saw the big box in the baggage claim area, he immediately wanted to know what it was.

"I told him it was his gift, and he would have to wait," recalls Mrs. Neumann, 41, of Peters. "He was so excited."

That's when the gnawing feeling started in her stomach. At his place, she noticed a nicely wrapped jewelry box on the dining room table.

"That's when it finally hit me -- I actually bought a filing cabinet as a Valentine's Day gift," she says. "I was horrified and felt sick to my stomach."

All evening, he was like a little kid at Christmas, anxious for them to open their gifts. She kept trying to stall. When she could no longer put it off, she opened her gift -- a lovely bracelet. Then, he opened his.

"The look on Dave's face ... remains priceless in my mind," she says. "He had the most incredulous look on his face. ... You got me a filing cabinet?"

To make matters worse, the airline's rough handling left a big dent in it. They returned it to a local branch of the national chain store she'd purchased it from, exchanging it for a money clip.

"After he got a good laugh out of picturing me lugging this huge thing through the airport, he was pretty touched that I would go to so much trouble to get him something he said he needed," says Mrs. Neumann, who has been with Mr. Neumann more than 22 years and married to him for more than 13 years. "Be careful of what you ask for; you just might get it."

In 1983, Roberta Bowser received her worst Valentine's gift ever -- cheese and crackers from the grocery store.

"That was my Valentine's Day present," says Ms. Bowser, 46, of Monroeville. "I was mad."

She was three days away from giving birth to her first child and spending her first Valentine's Day with her then-husband.

"You're just married, you're going to have a baby, and cheese and crackers just don't cut it," says Ms. Bowser, who, in fact, likes cheese and crackers, just not for Valentine's Day. "Not even the fancy kind. It was just a hunk of cheese and a box of crackers."

She and the cheese man divorced a few years ago.

When Rebecca Pollak and her husband, bluesman Billy Price, were dating, he gave her a cushioned toilet seat for Valentine's Day in 1985.

"That's not quite as bad as it sounds," says Ms. Pollak, 54, of Point Breeze. "He knew I hated to sit on a cold, hard toilet seat in the middle of the night. So, he did put a little thought into it, but I was kind of hoping for an engagement ring at that stage of the relationship."

Within six months, he gave her a different kind of ring for their engagement, and they recently celebrated their 20th wedding anniversary.

Gift givers need to find that delicate balance between wants and needs.

"The opposite of a good gift is to buy something you want," Ms. Porter says. "If you like to hike and she doesn't, getting her hiking boots is not a thoughtful, romantic gift for Valentine's Day. That's not really a gift for her. Make sure the gift is about what she would appreciate and want."

Before they were married, Edward J. Johnson and his wife, Dawn, took up cycling back in 1987. After bruising his shoulder in a minor bicycle crash, he bought himself a hard-shell helmet. His not-yet-wife refused to buy one, claiming they were uncomfortable and messed up her hair.

For Valentine's Day, he gave her a red-and-white shell-less helmet, which complemented her red-and-white bicycle.

"It's something I don't think my wife has ever forgiven me for," says Mr. Johnson, 47, of Center, Beaver County. "It all made perfect sense to me. If you love someone and that someone is a cyclist, you don't want her to crash and sustain permanent or even fatal brain damage."

His wife says the helmet really wasn't the worst Valentine's gift she's ever received, just the most unusual.

"When I got that helmet, I thought, 'I never got one of these before,'" says Mrs. Johnson, 49. "I was never mad. ... He remembered to coordinate the helmet colors with my bike and cycling shoes."

On Valentine's Day 1997, Eileen Fedor was working at a Downtown bank, watching a steady parade of female colleagues -- bejeweled in lovely red outfits -- get called down to the front desk.

One by one, each woman would take the elevators down and reappear minutes later carrying beautiful bouquets of roses, candy, jewelry and even a flower cookie bouquet, says Ms. Fedor, 56, of Beechview.

The other women would routinely surround the recipient's desk and "ooh" and "aah" the present.

As lunchtime neared, Ms. Fedor hadn't received a call from the front desk and feared her husband wasn't going to be able to get her something.

Then, the phone rang. With all eyes on her, she made a mad dash for the elevators. At the front desk, she retrieved a brown paper bag.

"OK, so he didn't wrap it, that's fine by me," she thought to herself.

She proudly carried the bag back to her cubicle for all of her colleagues to see. As she sat down at her desk, they surrounded her.

She read the card first, making them wait.

"Love, love, kisses, blah, blah, blah ..."

She put down the card, then opened the brown paper bag. Her eyes widened and the onlookers stepped back in surprise.

"There it was, a beautiful golden hue ... a Wholey's fish sandwich," she says. "It's a valentine I will never forget!"

They're now divorced.

David Marks fondly recalls a special Valentine's Day present his father gave him when he was a teenager.

"In the early '70s, I began listening to Deep Purple, and don't you know on Valentine's Day in 1974, there on the kitchen table was Deep Purple's 'Machine Head' album, along with candy," says Mr. Marks, 48, of Duquesne. "I played that record every day for weeks and learned all the words to the songs. I cherished that record, and 33 years later, I still have it."

One of Patricia Orendorff Smith's most treasured keepsakes is a large red construction paper heart with the words "I love you!" written in marker across it. Her husband, Ted, made it for her after more than 20 years of marriage.

"It was much better than the usual presents I received -- a wheelbarrow, drill and hammer," says Mrs. Smith, 64, of Indiana, Pa., chuckling at the memory. "He was in construction. He gave them to me, but it was funny how he used them."

Mr. Smith died in a car accident in 1995.

"Now that he's gone, I gently pull out that Valentine on special occasions and think how simplicity can say more than diamonds," she says.