It’s Valentine’s Day, the bane of the singleton existence. Except that being in love with someone who makes me somebody loved, even on Planet Suck, is pretty nice. And so on a hormonal high of worship, lust and love, I decided to make valentines. I rationalized my plans to make valentines just for him by making many, many valentines for lots of people. And they look so darling when they’re all together, that I was rather sad to separate them and send them off. Much of their appeal seemed to be in their flocking behavior.
In any case, I spent far too much money on ribbons and spent all weekend being crafty with fancy paper, velvet and satin ribbon, lace, glitter, and cut-out hearts. It made me feel pretty darned good. I got to do something pretty, with lots of combinations. And I do enjoy an opportunity to make sure that each little element is used equally and appropriately. I ended up with three that I wanted to give to the fellow and then the rest went out to friends, who I do love so very much.
I wrote a list of the reasons I love him on the backs of the card and managed to commandeer his morning coffee run. I really hadn’t expected to get any nod from him that it was Valentine’s Day at all (although I hoped of course – I am a girl), but lo and behold, he’d made me a card, too. It was cute with a castle and calling me his princess valentine, which has become this strange little joke* of ours. I was just filled to overflowing with glee. Glee to be with him for a few minutes and to hear him tell me that he loves me and that I am “the prettiest of all girls.” Which I feel sheepish to write about, that it made me so happy, but it did. So there.
But I will be on my own tonight and I am planning to go to my yoga class. A love a little bit of the time is better than never, though.
I did just have the lovely experience of hearing someone ask him if he’d given her her gift already and if it went over well. Boy, was that super. It’s so much easier to avoid nausea stemming from her existence if I don’t think of her or have to be reminded of her in any way. Sigh.
*The joke is that he calls me a magical princess. And maybe I did spend hours making these Victorian valentines, and I got a mosquito net for my bed just because it is pretty, and I do sometimes babble on about the plots of senseless romance novels, but I am no princess! Pish!
margaret edith 