As evident by all the decorations since New Years Eve, Valentine’s day is rapidly approaching.
watch out for those stray arrows!
I like listening to all the different views on Valentine’s day. We have the couples in their newly wed phase, who can’t wait for their date night, (complete with candy and roses). We have the couples that have been together for a long time, that judge the newly weds for their blissful anticipation, yet secretly yearn for the days their husband/boyfriend/girlfriend/wife used to romance them, and we have the couples like my folks, who have been married for-friggin-ever, and still celebrate like they’re newlyweds…
…and then we have the single folk. And they’re further separated into the “bitter” single, the “desperate” single, and the “oh, well” single folks. I have friends in all these different categories, and the weeks headed up to Valentine’s day provides money for much, much writing material.
One of my very best friends is going through a rough patch in her life. She’s hitting a landmark birthday, she recently realized the fella she was dating is a d-ckhead (I’m allowed to say that, cause he didn’t like me – go figure), and she’s coming up to Valentine’s day. She’s kinda bummed about it because she really doesn’t like being single – and this reminds me of a very special Valentine’s day I spent with her years ago.
I often joke that she’s my wife. One year, neither of us had plans on Valentine’s day, so I figured I’d be the best wife ever and take her to Olive Garden. Yep – Olive Garden, her favorite restaurant. We went, we had fun (we ate, drank and were merry. I think I bought her a rose), and when I was paying, struck up a conversation with the old man sitting next to me.
“I think its great you two are spending Valentine’s Day together’
“aw, thanks <old man>. Gotta keep those women happy”
The waiter comes with the bill, I grab it, view the cost, and mutter “Women. Can’t live with em, can’t kill em”
Exit: Old Man.
I’ve spent my share of Valentine’s day with my various boyfriends through out my dating career. We have the Queens Boy, who would constantly buy me tacky jewelry. Granted, there was plenty about THAT relationship I could make fun of, but his attempt at gift-giving wasn’t one of them. While it did display a complete lack of understand towards my personal taste, he did try to do something nice.
Or there’s the cop I dated for a while. We went out to dinner for, I believe, our second Valentine’s day together. He leaned over the table, squinted at me and said “wait a minute. Your eyes are green?”
yes, asshole. They’re the same green eyes that give you dirty looks when you show up to dinner four hours late because your friend needed help changing a tire (cop code for “drinking beer after tour”).
Or there’s my first “long-term boyfriend”. On our first Valentine’s day together (mind, you, I stayed with him for two more years after this), said to me “get my belt out of the closet before I beat you with it”. Astonished, (maybe a little intrigued) by the statement, I open the closet to a vase of roses.
And then I paid for dinner.
Finally, we have last year’s boyfriend who got stuck at work (Ladies, don’t date Firemen unless you are okay with knowing the “Fire House Comes First” – for every single one of them. Every single one, regardless of what he says) but surprised me by having roses sent to my apartment while I was at work. Sweet, yes. My style? Not even a bit.
I truly do not care about Valentine’s day. And I’m not just saying that, I really, really don’t. Sure, I’ve had the whole “romantic, get dressed up and go out to dinner” Valentine’s day. I’ve also had the Valentine’s day where I’ve come home to an apartment that’s flooded because my friend clogged the toilet before going to work and didn’t check to make sure the water had stopped running.
This year could have gone one of two ways. I could have chosen to go out with the fella that most likely would have swept me off my feet for Valentine’s day. He undoubtedly would have done something sweet and romantic – or I could have chosen to stick with my charming FF – a cat I’ve been seeing for a little while now, that most likely will forget the day even exists. Or not forget, and pretend to because he doesn’t want to deal with it.
I choose option two. When it comes down to it – flowers die, chocolate plunges me into food guilt, and I don’t like sparkly cards in my house, glitter takes forever to get out of my damn carpet.